


Pressed Against The Sky

by mcpofife



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Boarding School, Football Player Louis, M/M, Prince Harry Styles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4350530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcpofife/pseuds/mcpofife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his final year attending the prestigious boarding school Blake College, Harry, the 17 year-old prince of England, hopes to befriend his new roommate. Louis Tomlinson, the rebellious football phenom, just wants to make it to graduation without losing his scholarship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago but never posted it because of various reasons. All the drama this year has culminated in mighty waves of WHATTHEFUCK washing over me to the point where I decided to just post it bc the world is a spinning marble. 
> 
> Couple of things to note: Blake College is loosely based on Eton, the school the real princes of England attended, but I changed details around to suit my fancy.
> 
> Harry, Louis, and the rest of 1D are all 17 years old in this.

Harry liked to think that returning to school after summer was essentially the same for him as it was for every boy at Blake. All the annoyances of a return to books and lessons; packing his belongings to be shipped to the dorm; saying goodbye to his family; every student went through that. Did all of them arrive to campus with security detail, and have to tour the grounds with a reporter and a photographer in tow, while a personal attendant unpacked his dorm room for him? Of course not, but then, there was only one young prince of England. 

For him, it was just another part of the first day of a new term at Blake; a fair trade with the press in exchange for keeping their distance while he was at school. His mother had come along with him on the first two years, but by the third it was old hat, and by now – the fifth, and Harry a young man of seventeen – it was nothing at all to meander the familiar pathways and corridors, pose beside a few marble busts, and charm the middle-aged reporter with his desire to be treated as a normal student. 

“To the other lads, I’m just Harry,” he said, with an easy grin. “They don’t think of me as a member of the royal family.” 

It was wishful thinking, and they both knew it, but the reporter nodded. “I’ve been told that, this term, you’ve been assigned a scholarship student as your roommate. Don’t they usually live in a separate house from the other students?” 

“Yes, they board at the KS house. But my roommate is not a king’s scholar,” he said. 

“Oh,” she said, catching on quickly. There was only one student at Blake who was attending on a scholarship without passing the exam required of king’s scholars. “Is it Louis Tomlinson?” 

“I’d rather not say,” he said, inwardly wincing at the slip. “Would you mind not putting that in your article? I’ve yet to meet him; I’m not sure how he’d feel about having his name in the papers.” 

“He’s already a bit famous,” she mused. “It’s not every day a boy gets a full scholarship to Blake due to his skill on the pitch. His name was in a couple of papers after Blake won the FA Youth Cup last year.” 

Harry nodded stiffly. “Speaking of sport, would you like to see the new sport hall? It’s quite impressive.” 

“Did they ask if you were comfortable rooming with a scholarship student before the arrangements were made?” she said. 

“That wouldn’t have been necessary. A boy on scholarship is the same as any other student,” Harry said, struggling to keep his voice even. “I’d rather not discuss this or have it included it in the article, please.” 

The slight emphasis he put on the last word seemed to snap her out of it. “Oh, of course, sir. I apologise.” 

“Thank you,” he told her warmly, diverting her attention with a flash of his famous dimples. The young prince’s dark curls and dimples were noted in nearly every article written about him ( _Prince Charming_ , the tabloids called him), and he wasn’t afraid to use them to his advantage. “Now, the new sport hall? Shall we?” 

* 

They didn’t run into any other students when Harry took the reporter to Shaw House. It was the house for final year students, and if they any were inside, they knew enough to stay out of the kitchen. Most had attended Blake for the past five years alongside Harry, but even the sixth form entries, like his roommate, had been there the previous year and knew about the prince’s required interview. 

“A house master and a dame to attend your every need, and a full house staff,” the reporter noted. “In-house dining room and chef. So you eat all your meals here alone?” 

“Alone with the other forty-nine boys who live here,” Harry said, feeling rather daft as he toasted bread while wearing an apron for the benefit of the photographer. 

“My editor is going to have my head over not getting any pictures of you revising,” the reporter said lightly, but Harry knew she was hoping he’d change her mind about posing at his desk. 

“It’s not only my room, or I would,” he said. “I’ll have some taken and sent to you.” 

“That would be great, thank you,” she said. “So, if we could—” 

He was saved when the house dame, Louise, walked into the kitchen. “I’m sorry to interrupt. The prince’s presence has been requested by the house master.” 

“Oh,” the reporter said, disappointment evident. 

Harry threw Louise a quick, grateful smile as he took off the apron and tossed it onto the worktop. He could tell that she and the house master, James, were going to be especially pleasant to live with this year. 

Once the reporter and photographer were escorted out by the security guards who’d been trailing Harry all afternoon, he turned to Louise. “What does James need?” 

“Oh, nothing,” she said. “I just wanted you to have some time to rest before dinner. That woman would spend the night if we let her.” 

Harry laughed. “Thanks. Is, um… is my roommate here?” 

“Who are you with?” she said, and he reminded her. “Oh right! No, he ran off with Zayn and Liam to do god know’s what – most likely nothing good.” She didn’t sound too put out, laughing a bit as she said it. 

He nodded and excused himself to go upstairs and see his room. It was a nice room; the largest one in the house. Harry had long since learned that asking for a smaller room would only come off as him making demands. “ _Show your modesty by a benign acceptance of your station_ ," his mother had told him when he was thirteen and entering his first year at Blake. He hadn’t quite understood what she meant or why it was a bad thing to want to be treated equally to the other boys. 

“ _Let the people have their prince_ ,” his sister had explained. 

In the centre of the furthest wall was a large window above a chest of drawers. On each side of the room, a small desk faced the wall, outfitted with a built-in bookshelf and a lamp. Twin beds were pushed against the walls to maximise the floor space. On the left side of the room was a door that led to their ensuite bathroom. On the right side was a large wardrobe with four doors; one pair of doors for each half of the wardrobe. He opened the right side and immediately recognised his blazer collection. He resisted the urge to open to left side; his hand lingering on the door handles for a moment until he bit his lip and stepped away. 

The rest of Harry’s belongings had been arranged on the right side of the room. He hoped his attendant had allowed Louis to pick the side he wanted first. He wished he’d been able to be there when Louis had arrived; that they could’ve unpacked together. He took off his shoes and plopped down on his bed for a nap. 

He’d only closed his eyes for a few minutes when someone knocked on his door. “Come in,” he called. 

The door opened and a head peeked in. Harry smiled when he saw his best mate, Niall Horan. He was the son of an Irish marquess, but more importantly, he was a top lad who took everything in stride, including Harry being second in line to the throne. Harry was eternally thankful that his older sister took the burden of succession off of his shoulders. The tabloids liked to spin tales of jealousy and possible abdication, but Harry was perfectly content with the idea of a life of public service without the task of heading the monarchy. 

Niall had been Harry’s first roommate at Blake, and they’d roomed together every subsequent year. When room assignments had been issued this term, Niall had called Harry and suggested they protest, but Harry had said it might be a good experience to room with someone new. He’d felt nervous saying it, hoping he wouldn’t offend his best mate, but Niall had seen his logic. They were about to head out into the real world; they should make the most of their last year at Blake. They’d still be living in close quarters and seeing each other constantly. 

“I’m right next door,” Niall said with a laugh, coming in and sitting on the end of Harry’s bed. “Zayn’s already smoked out of our window. Think it might’ve been weed.” 

“You couldn’t tell?” Harry said. 

“He threw it out when I walked in, then bitched at me for not using the special knock to warn him it was me. They all looked high, but who knows,” Niall said. 

“Who’s they?” Harry said, although he could guess. 

“Who else?” said Niall. “Liam and Louis.” 

Zayn Malik had never been particularly sociable. He was popular in that by-default way that all extremely good-looking people were, but he kept his inner circle small. Although Blake had long since abandoned its Catholic roots, some students were ignorant little shits about his Muslim heritage. Maybe it was a way to mask their envy of how little effort he put into earning high marks, the unparalleled perfection of his face, and the fact that he was heir to a vast oil fortune. 

Liam Payne, on the other hand, had started at Blake as a model student. In fact, Harry used to find it a bit insufferable the way he lived by the book. It was strange to think how quickly that version of Liam had disappeared and been replaced with one that fit right in with the two most rebellious boys at Blake. The Headmaster probably rued the day he moved Louis out of Zayn’s room and into Liam’s in the hopes of thwarting his mischievous streak. It’d had the reverse effect: Louis and Zayn had corrupted Liam in record time and the duo had become a trio. Harry could only imagine how Liam’s parents reacted to their son shaving off all of his hair at the end of last term. 

Louis Tomlinson, brought in as a sixth form entry on a full athletic scholarship, the football saviour of Blake, who’d led them to their first FA Cup victory since 1882, was the son of a single mother. Rumour had it that she had five children from five different fathers; that Louis had never even met his, and that’s why he’d taken the surname of his stepfather. It could be pure bullshit, for all Harry knew. He’d never had an actual conversation with Louis; only seen him around campus and at football matches. He cut an intriguing figure, but didn’t seem keen to mingle beyond his teammates and roommates. This year, Harry would fall into the latter category. 

“What’s Louis like? Did you talk to him?” Harry said. 

“A little bit,” Niall said, and by his tone, Harry could tell there was more to it. 

“What’s he like?” he pressed. 

Niall shrugged. “He seems cool. He’s funny.” 

“Yeah.” Harry knew that much already. Louis was as loud as he was athletic, and was always making the people around him laugh. It was like there was a light surrounding him that drew people close; or would, if Louis didn’t also seem so untouchable. Liam, Zayn, and his teammates orbited around him, basking in his attention and wit, and all anyone else could do was watch from afar. 

“You know why they roomed him with you?” Niall said suddenly. 

Harry paused. “What do you mean?” 

“Our lovely governance are trying to keep him in line,” Niall said. “Fuckin’ idiots started him off with Zayn last year, and obviously that was a recipe for disaster. Then they put him in with Liam Payne, and he managed to corrupt even him.” 

“So he thinks that they think I’ll be a good influence?” Harry said, raising his eyebrows to show how unimpressed he was with the theory. He wasn’t a bad student, but he was hardly a role model. 

“No, they think he’ll be too scared to fuck up if he’s roomed with you. Never mind the Headmaster, how’s he gonna explain it to his _mum_ if he’s moved out of the fuckin’ prince’s room?” Niall said. 

“Maybe they just thought we’d get along,” Harry suggested weakly. 

“No, they’re trying to force him to follow the rules,” Niall said. “Louis figured it out. I mean, why else would they split up the prince and his best mate?” 

“That’s what he said?” Harry asked, and Niall nodded. “So, is he angry?” 

“Of course. Wouldn’t you be?” Niall said. “Christ, Harry, don’t make that face. He’s not angry at _you_. It’s not like it’s your fault.” 

Harry plucked at his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger; a nervous habit he could never seem to break. “I just don’t want… ” 

Niall smacked a friendly hand onto Harry’s leg and squeezed. “Mate, don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll love you.” 

“Hope so,” he said quietly. 

“Wanna go by Jared and Matt’s room? I told ’em we’d meet them there before supper,” Niall said. 

“Yeah, sure,” Harry agreed. “I haven’t had a chance to see anyone yet because of that bloody reporter.” 

“Poor little rich boy,” Niall teased. 

Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “We’re all poor little rich boys here.” 

* 

At least half of the boys in the house weren’t there for supper, and after eating, Harry went back to Jared and Matt’s room for some beers. Drinking was technically not allowed on campus, but as long as students were discreet about it, it wasn’t an issue. Around ten o’clock, Harry went back to his room. His roommate was still nowhere to be seen. He sighed, washed up, stripped down to his pants, and climbed into bed with his laptop to watch a movie. 

He scrolled through Netflix for a while but couldn’t decide on anything. He kept glancing up to study the other side of the room, and eventually he set his laptop aside and got up to have a proper look. He wasn’t going to touch anything, of course. He studied the posters on the wall; Cristiano Ronaldo and David Beckham striking heroic poses. The main draw of his interest was the collection of photographs. 

Louis was in most of them posing with friends and family. Louis with two little girls, possibly his sisters. Louis and an older woman, probably his mum. Louis at the beach in a wetsuit holding a surfboard. Louis with a dark-haired guy, arms slung around each other’s shoulders and pulling funny faces. The same guy was in a lot of the photos and Harry wondered what his relationship was to Louis. They didn’t look related. There was a blonde girl in several of them, too. She was sitting in Louis’ lap in one photo. In another, it looked like they might be holding hands, but the angle made it impossible to be sure. 

Louis had a lot of friends back home, it seemed. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t feel the need to socialise much at school. Maybe the people back home were more interesting than the students at Blake. It wasn’t hard to imagine. Harry liked nice things, but he couldn’t relate to some of his schoolmates’ obsession with wealth and social status. He appreciated the perks and accepted the responsibilities of his title, but he didn’t think it defined him. He was just a boy who happened to be a prince, with all the same insecurities and desires as anyone else his age. 

Harry’s favorite photograph was one of Louis and his friends at a barbecue in someone’s back garden. They were all in swimwear, drinking cans of beer and eating hot dogs. Louis had his trunks pulled down to show off his tan line. The top of his arse was lily pale in stark contrast to the caramel skin of his back and legs. He was peeking over his shoulder, smirking at the camera, as his friends laughed at him. 

Harry imagined what it would be like to be there with them, to be the one taking the picture. No security guards, no pretenses, just a group of regular teenagers scraping together their allowances to buy alcohol and food, piling into someone’s beat-up car to go to the shop. What would it be like to get as drunk as he pleased without worrying it’d be in the papers the next day? 

He got lost in his thoughts staring at the photographs and nearly jumped out of his skin when the doorknob began to jiggle. He scrambled to sit on his bed, yanked the covers over his legs, and grabbed his laptop just as the door opened and Louis walked in. 

Their eyes caught and held. Harry’s heart was pounding at nearly being caught snooping. Louis had the expression a lot of people wore the first time they met Harry; a vague trepidation that made Harry’s grooming kick in. He smiled and nodded his head slightly, a semblance of a bow. “Hi.” 

Louis returned the gesture. “Hi. I’m Louis.” 

“I know who you are,” Harry said. “Everyone knows who you are.” 

Louis raised his eyebrows, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. “That’s rich, coming from you.” 

“The great football saviour of Blake,” Harry gently teased. “The reason we won an FA cup for the first time in a hundred years.” 

“A hundred and thirty-two, but who’s counting?” Louis said, and Harry laughed. Louis took a breath, scanning Harry’s side of the room. He let it out in a rush and looked back at Harry. “I guess we should just get it out of the way, yeah?” 

Before Harry could ask what he meant, he continued. “You’re the prince of England.” 

Harry wasn’t sure if Louis expected a response, but when he didn’t go on, Harry said, “Well, yes. Technically.” 

Louis smiled. “I’ve become so much cooler in the eyes of my little sisters for going to the same school as you, even though I told them I’ve never actually met you—” 

“We met once,” Harry cut in before he could stop himself. “After you won the FA cup, we met. Just briefly…” 

“Right, yeah,” Louis agreed. “When you came on the field to congratulate us, but everyone was trying to talk to you. We didn’t get to properly… like. I wasn’t sure if you remembered that.” 

“Of course I do,” Harry said. “I shook your hand. It was very sweaty.” 

Louis laughed loudly at that. “I’m glad I made such a brilliant first impression.” 

“You did,” Harry assured him. “You already had. I went to every home match last year.” 

“I know,” Louis said. “People tend to notice that sort of thing: the prince being in attendance.” 

“I hope it’s not a bother?” Harry said. 

“No, it’s great. Really boosts morale,” Louis said. “We probably have you to thank for what a great season we had.” 

“No way,” Harry said. “There were loads of people there cheering you on.” 

“Right, and that had nothing to do with the prince coming to the matches, I’m sure,” Louis said, and now he was the one teasing. Harry loved when people felt comfortable enough to tease him. 

“And I’m sure it had nothing to do with the new football sensation, either,” he retorted. 

“Okay, okay,” Louis said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Let’s just agree that we’re equally impressive.” 

Harry grinned. “Yeah, we’re equal.” 

Louis reached a hand out toward the light switch. “You mind using a lamp?” 

“Oh, sure,” Harry said, stretching to turn on his desk lamp. Louis flicked off the lights and then walked to his bed, yanking his shirt over his head and discarding it on the floor. He toed out of his shoes and took off his jeans. Harry hadn’t seen Louis since the end of last term and he couldn’t help checking to see how he’d changed. He didn’t seem to have grown much. His body was still compact, slim and curvy; the opposite of Harry’s. 

Harry had hit a growth spurt over the summer and it showed no signs of slowing. He was pale and tall, with large hands and big green eyes and shaggy brown curls. His shoulders were broadening and his long legs seemed to get longer by the day, making him even more prone to tripping over his own feet. He’d never been particularly coordinated, unlike Louis. 

Everything about Louis was different and better. His skin was honey golden; his eyes were light blue and fringed with the longest lashes Harry had ever seen. His straight brown hair was always stylishly cut, with a side-swept fringe that fell softly across his forehead. His ample bum was famous around campus, but Harry thought his muscular thighs were just as mesmerising. His pixyish good looks, so perfectly paired with strength and agility, made him seem almost otherworldly. 

Harry realised he was staring just in time to look away as Louis slid into bed. Louis fiddled with his phone and then set it on his desk. “Good night.” 

“Oh. Good night. Do you want me to turn off the light?” Harry said. 

“No, it won’t bother me. Zayn’s a night owl; I’m used to it,” Louis said. “I’d be the same way if it wasn’t for football.” 

Harry nodded in understanding. “You have a lot of responsibility, I imagine, as the captain.” 

Louis lifted his eyebrows, half-smiling. “Nothing comes without a cost. ‘sworth it. I love footie, me. I want to play for England after I graduate.” 

“Do ya?” Harry said, not surprised but quite taken with the idea. He could imagine watching Louis on television, all done up in his football kit. “Man U?” 

“Obviously that’s the dream,” Louis agreed. “If we can win the Youth Cup again this year, I think I’ve got a pretty good shot at a contract.” 

Harry had a thousand follow up questions he’d like to ask, but he didn’t want to keep Louis awake. Anyway, they were roommates now. He’d have plenty of time to get to know him. “That’s incredible.” 

“Well, we’ll see how the season goes,” Louis said, and rolled over so his back was facing Harry. “G’night.” 

“Night,” Harry said. 

He clicked around aimlessly on his laptop for a while, googling the current Manchester United roster and fact-checking a meme his sister had e-mailed him that claimed baby elephants threw themselves into mud puddles when having a tantrum. The results were inconclusive, but he didn’t think it was true. He replied to tell her so. 

**Elephants use mud as sun cream. I suspect that little donut slipped and faceplanted. You of all people should know how annoying it is to have the media spread false rumours. It’s like when a pap got a photo of you sneezing and the papers ran it saying you were crying over a break-up. These days it’s like the truth is irrelephant!**

**My roommate is already sleeping… That’s what I get for rooming with an athlete :P He told me he wants to play for Man U. Can you imagine that? I might be rooming with the next Beckham, haha.**

**ok I guess I might as well sleep too. Will you be at tea on Sunday? x**

He sent the email, then closed his laptop and set it on his desk. He put a finger on the switch of his lamp, but hesitated before pressing it. He looked over at Louis, at the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. 

He turned off the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/Kudos are lovely, so bless your little cute face if you decide to leave some xx


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was awoken by the sound of a door opening. He squinted toward the room door first before realising it was the bathroom door that was now wide open; Louis standing beside it wearing nothing but a pair of joggers and rubbing his hair with a towel. 

“You’re up early,” Harry croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What time is it?” 

“Seven-fifteen,” Louis said. 

Harry sat up in bed to grab his phone off of his desk and turn off his alarm, which was set to ring at half past. “What time do you wake up?” 

“Five forty-five,” Louis said, dropping the towel on the floor and walking over to the dresser to root through a drawer. 

“Five forty-five! What for?” Harry asked. 

“Conditioning, mate. Six to seven every morning.” Louis seemed to find what he was looking for, shoving something in his pocket. 

“You do that every day?” Harry said, impressed. “The whole team?” 

“Just me,” Louis said, opening the window and hoisting himself atop the dresser with a small grunt. 

“What are you—woah!” Harry clambered out of bed as Louis crawled out onto the roof. He disappeared from sight for a second, then was back at the window, peering in. 

“You coming?” he said, and Harry nodded impulsively. 

He dragged his desk chair over to use as a step stool, not wanting to risk attempting Louis’ nimble manoeuvre. Louis reached out, holding Harry’s bicep as he climbed out onto the roof. “Got it?” he checked before letting go. 

Harry nodded again. He followed Louis a short distance across the roof to a flat area that was covered with a thin, grotty-looking quilt. Louis plopped himself down on it and began to pull things out of his pocket. He glanced up at Harry. “Sit.” 

Harry sat hesitantly, drawing his knees up to his chest. He wasn’t shy about his body, but he was wearing nothing but the pants he’d slept in. Louis was just as barefoot and shirtless as him, but at least he was wearing joggers. Harry wished he was too, so that he could stretch out and enjoy the sunshine on his chest like Louis. 

Louis' skin glowed in the early morning sun; caramel and honey studded with dusky little nipples. His stomach looked lean and soft in repose, and a faint tan line peeked out from the waistband of his joggers. Harry’s eyes wandered down and then shot back up to Louis' face, startled. He clearly wasn’t wearing pants. 

He also, fortunately, wasn’t paying attention to Harry. Instead, he was fiddling with a tiny hand-rolled cigarette and a lighter. He brought it to his mouth, lit it, and inhaled deeply. He looked at Harry askance. “Want some?” 

“Um...” Harry had seen people smoke weed before but had never tried it himself. 

“You don’t have to,” Louis added quickly. 

“No, I… I want to try it.” Harry licked his lips as Louis carefully passed him the joint. He took a drag, but Louis shook his head when Harry exhaled. 

“You didn’t inhale.” 

“I did,” Harry protested. 

“You didn’t,” Louis said. “Suck harder, take it all the way into your lungs and hold it. Count to five before you exhale.” 

Harry tried again. 

“Good,” Louis said, plucking the joint out of Harry’s hand. “Puff, puff, pass.” 

“But I didn’t inhale the first time!” Harry said. 

“Puff, puff, pass is the law,” Louis said solemnly, taking another hit before returning the joint. “This your first time?” 

Harry took a drag and nodded. 

“Why?” Louis asked, and Harry shrugged. “Some people don’t feel anything their first time, just so you know.” 

Harry expelled a plume of smoke. “That’s fine.” 

“I remember the first time I smoked,” Louis said, and proceeded to weave a tale so ludicrous – a tale of stealing weed from his friend’s older brother and getting lost in the woods and befriending a turtle – that Harry’s abs hurt from laughing so hard. 

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, leaning back on his elbows, stretching out across the dingy blanket without a care. He palmed the flexing muscles of his stomach, became distracted by them and trailed his fingers over the ridges and valleys. He’d worked with a personal trainer during summer holidays and was pleased by the progress he’d made. A tabloid had even run a cover a few weeks ago with a headline about his six pack and a photo of him in swim trunks. 

He looked over at Louis, wondering what he thought about Harry’s physique; if he noticed how much it had changed since last term. 

Louis raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. “What?” 

“Have you been to the new sport hall yet?” Harry said. “It’s pretty nice. There’s a bunch of new exercise equipment.” 

“Yeah, I used it yesterday. Pretty sure I’m the only student who has so far,” Louis said. “It’s nice. The new pool is a major upgrade.” 

“Way better than the old one,” Harry agreed. “Can’t wait to try it out.” 

Louis managed to get one last hit off of the joint, so small it had only afforded them three turns each, before snubbing it out. “Let’s go back in?” 

Harry would’ve preferred to stay right where they were, but he said, “Okay.” 

Louis hovered behind Harry as they made their way back inside, hands resting lightly on his waist to guide him. Once they were safe in their room, Harry grinned at him. “You scared I was going to fall?” 

“Bloody terrified, are ya joking? Just what I need, murdering the prince!” He checked the time on his phone. “It’s seven forty-eight. You should hop in the shower if you want to have one before breakfast.” 

“Shit. Okay,” Harry said, turning around and yanking down his pants unthinkingly. He froze, mortified, when he’d realised what he’d done. “Uh…” he mumbled, pulling them back up. “Sorry. I’m used to rooming with Niall.” 

Louis laughed. “Exactly how high are you?” 

“I’m not, I don’t think? I don’t know; I can’t tell. Maybe I am,” Harry rambled. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be weird.” 

“Mate, it’s not weird. We’re roommates. We’re going to be naked around each other sometimes. We’re both guys; it’s fine,” Louis assured him. 

“Okay… good,” Harry said. “Good you don’t mind, I mean. Like… I’m glad my arse didn’t offend you. If you even saw it.” 

“You should get going,” Louis suggested, sounding amused. 

“Right.” Harry hurried into the bathroom. By the time he finished his shower, Louis was gone. 

* 

“Bro, are you high?” Niall asked at breakfast. They were the only boys left in the dining room; Harry having just barely made it in time before the serving dishes were cleared away. 

“What? Why do you say that?” Harry asked. 

“Look at your plate,” Niall said. Harry looked. 

He had four slices of beans on toast, two eggs, two sausages, and a banana in front of him. “Okay, I’m a little high.” 

Niall laughed loudly. “Day two of rooming with Tomlinson and you’re already corrupted.” 

“There’s nothing corrupt about weed. You’ve smoked it plenty of times!” Harry said. 

“Yeah, and you always refused,” Niall said. “So what’s different about today?” 

Harry shook his head, tucking into his eggs. 

“Well, I’m glad you two are getting along.” Niall bit into a sausage. “Zayn’s cool so far. I think it’ll be fun rooming with him.” 

They ate in silence for a few minutes, until Harry said, “Have you ever noticed about Louis… when he smiles you want to smile back?” 

Niall looked at him oddly. “I guess? I think I pretty much always smile back at people. So do you.” 

“Yeah, but it’s different. He’s got a really good smile,” Harry insisted. “It’s like contagious or something.” 

“I mean, he has all his teeth,” Niall said. “He’s doing alright for himself.” 

Harry frowned. “Never mind.” 

He could feel Niall staring at him, and he hunched down, shoveling food into his mouth. 

“Hey,” Niall said. Harry ignored him. 

“Hey,” he said again, nudging Harry’s elbow with his own. “He does have a good smile.” 

“Forget it,” Harry said grumpily. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Come on, mate, yeah?” Niall threw an arm around Harry’s neck and tugged him into a half-hug. “Bring it in.” 

Harry smushed his face against Niall’s shoulder and huffed. 

“Anything that makes my best mate smile must be good, yeah?” Niall said quietly, ruffling Harry’s curls. “Who knew you’d be so sensitive when you’re stoned?” 

Harry snorted and slapped Niall’s hand away playfully. Niall grinned at him and Harry rolled his eyes, smiling down at his toast when Niall ruffled his hair again. 

* 

Harry had never attended school high before. It was strange. He was a little paranoid at first, sure that the people around him could tell. He got lost in his thoughts, wondering how Louis was faring. Did he always get high before school? Did he spend every morning on a roof, shirtless and sun-soaked, with whomever was lucky enough to be invited along? How many times had Liam or Zayn seen him like that? Would Harry be invited again, maybe every morning, now that he was Louis’ roommate? 

By noon, the high had worn off. “You want to go to Shaw or see what they’re having in Watterson?” Niall asked when they met up for lunch. 

The football team preferred to eat together in Watterson, the campus dining hall, rather than in their respective boarding houses. A long stretch of tables in the back of the hall was unofficially reserved for the rowdy pack. Louis always sat at the head of the table, the centre of their attention. 

“Let’s try Watterson,” Harry said. 

They ran into some friends on the way to the hall, and Harry felt a bit guilty for being annoyed by their presence. Liam and Zayn sat with the football team, so it’s not like they didn’t allow outsiders at their table. Harry had sort of thought that if he and Niall walked past it, they might be asked to join them. That wouldn’t happen with a half dozen boys in tow. 

He ended up at one of the many round 8-seater tables in the hall, surrounded by lads that he’d be happy to sit with on any other day. Every time the football team’s table erupted into laughter, Harry would glance at Louis, wondering if he’d said something funny. If Louis was laughing, he’d wonder who made him laugh, what they said or did to accomplish that. Maybe it was weird to be so fascinated by another person; Harry wasn’t sure why he was so drawn to Louis. It was embarrassing how badly he wanted to befriend him. 

Zayn leaned in to whisper in Louis’ ear and Harry stiffened. They were so close that it almost looked like Zayn’s lips were brushing Louis’ ear. Whatever he said made Louis grin, and Zayn helped himself to something off of Louis’ plate. That right there, that’s exactly what Harry wanted: that familiarity, that carte blanche with personal boundaries. He just wanted to be close to him. 

“What do you say, H?” someone asked, and Harry blinked. He hadn’t heard a word of his friends’ conversation. “What?” 

“You want to go swimming after supper? The pool closes at nine, so we’ll go at eight,” Jared said. 

“Yeah, we’re in,” Niall answered before Harry could reply. “I haven’t even seen it yet but H said it’s sick.” 

“It’s very nice,” Harry said. “Way bigger than the old one and the roof and walls are all glass.” 

He was distracted by the mass exodus of the football team. He tried not to stare at Louis leaving, but he couldn’t seem to stop. They both had English next, but Louis always sat in the back row and Harry always sat in the middle. It wouldn’t do for the prince to look like he wasn’t taking his studies seriously, nor could he sit in the front like a swot. 

“Are you still – you know?” Niall said quietly, and at Harry’s confused look, added, “From this morning? You’re acting spacey.” 

“No, I’m fine,” Harry said. “I’m just tired, I guess.” 

“Me too, dude. Zayn had me up half the night playing his advance copy of _Destiny_. Doesn’t come out till tomorrow.” 

“Thanks for inviting me,” Harry said sarcastically. 

“Figured you wanted some bonding time with your new roommate,” Niall said. 

“He goes to bed early,” Harry said. 

“Next time, then,” Niall promised, and gestured at Harry’s empty plate. “You done?” 

“Yeah, let’s go,” Harry said. “Matt?” 

“Coming,” the blonde lad on the other side of the table said. The three of them walked to English together, taking the long way across campus to enjoy the autumn weather. 

Entering the classroom, his eyes immediately sought out Louis. 

“Hey Harry,” one of his friends greeted him, and Louis looked his way. Their gaze met and Harry offered a smile and a nod, which Louis returned. There was an empty desk in front of Louis, and Harry considered taking it – after all, they were roommates – but Niall and Matt were already heading towards the middle of the room. 

“Harry,” Matt called, and Harry tore his attention away from Louis, smiling faintly at his friends as he joined them. 

* 

The next time Harry saw Louis was when he returned to their room from playing video games with Niall and Zayn. He and Liam had been off somewhere – Zayn had been vague when Harry asked where – and he was now fast asleep. It wasn’t even half ten. 

Harry showered and changed into a fresh pair of pants before getting into bed. He opened his laptop to see if his sister had replied to his e-mail. 

**Well, little brother, I googled the elephant thing and it seems you’re right and I was wrong… so there really is a first time for everything!**

**I read your back-to-school interview. What thrilling news about the new sport hall. I can now rest peacefully at night knowing that the boys of Blake can mind their waistlines in a state-of-the-art weight training room. That didn’t sound at all like you were reciting lines fed to you by the Headmaster :)**

**Yes, I will be at tea on Sunday. I’ve asked mum to arrange for beef Wellington to be served. I’ve had such a craving for it lately, and no one makes it as good as they do at Windsy!**

**You know, you can just say Louis instead of “my roommate”. It’s not like I don’t know his name! Have you had a chance to get to know him at all yet? Is he what you expected?**

Harry read the last line repeatedly, mulling over his response. 

**I don’t really know what I expected, so I can’t say that he is or isn’t.**

It was a cop-out, but he didn’t know how to put his feelings into words. 

**Beef Welly at Windsy. Sounds like a plan x**

* 

Harry’s alarm clock went off at seven o’clock. He flicked on his desk lamp and darted into the bathroom to brush his teeth, splash water on his face, and make sure his hair wasn’t too disheveled. When the lock on the room door started turning, he went to open it. 

Louis stood in the corridor with a surprised look on his face and his hand still holding his room key in the lock. His shirt and hair were wet with sweat and he was drinking what looked like a protein shake. 

“Good morning,” Harry said. 

”Morning.” Louis noticed the open bathroom door. “Were you about to shower?” 

“No, go ahead,” Harry said. “I’ll wait.” 

He went to his desk and mindlessly flipped through a copy of _The Complete Works of Lord Byron_ while Louis collected a few items from his side of the wardrobe and disappeared into the bathroom. 

When he reemerged, damp-haired, they stared at each other for a moment. Louis said, “I don’t really feel like smoking. We’re scrimmaging today.” 

”That’s fine. I don’t mind,” Harry said. “Um, we could just go sit? It’s a nice view.” 

“It’s not bad,” Louis conceded. They climbed out onto the roof, Harry a bit steadier on his feet this time around. 

“You work quite hard, don’t you?” Harry said to him, once they were settled. 

“Yeah, of course,” Louis said. “Every professional footballer works hard. You don’t get a contract without blood, sweat, and tears.” 

“I’ve met Beckham several times.” It slipped out before Harry could think twice. He immediately blushed, feeling stupid for bragging. 

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” Louis said, playing offended. “What’s he like?” 

“He’s really nice. Very handsome.” He ducked his head to hide his flushed cheeks behind his curls. 

Louis smirked at him. 

Desperate to change the subject, Harry said, “Can I go to your games once you’re famous?” 

Louis chuckled, squinting up at the morning sky. “I’m pretty sure you can do whatever you want.” 

“No, but I meant…” Harry trailed off. “Okay.” 

“I mean, I’ll not mind if you want to make it clear you’re a fan,” Louis said lightly. 

Harry grinned at him. “I could wear one of your jerseys to a game. If it fit.” 

”Oi, watch it.” Louis elbowed him. 

Harry laughed, rubbing the spot on his arm where Louis had poked him. “Honestly, it’d be my honour. I’d love to help bring attention to your talent.” 

Louis tilted his head, smirk twisting wryly. “Well, hopefully my talent will get attention on its own.” 

“I’m sure it will!” Harry said quickly. “I just meant, like… it’s nice when I can direct all the undue attention I get towards something deserving.” 

Louis’ eyebrows furrowed. “It’s not undue. You’re the prince.” 

Harry shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, but that has nothing to do with me. It’s nothing I _did_ or earned. I was just born. That’s my big accomplishment.” 

“You do charity work,” Louis pointed out. 

“One lad doing a bit of charity work isn’t what’s getting the headlines, though, is it?” Harry said. “It’s that the lad happens to be the prince. If I wore a funny hat, that’d make headlines too. That’s what I mean about directing the attention towards something worthy.” 

Louis leaned back, propped up on his hands, his legs crossed at the ankles. “I think you’re being unfair to yourself.” 

Harry mirrored his position. The tips of their fingers brushed. “Yeah?” 

Louis tipped his head back, closing his eyes. “Those curls are definitely headline-worthy.” 

Harry stared at him, struck speechless by the compliment and by how ethereal he looked awash in sunshine. Eventually, he tipped his head back too, and they sat in silence. The sounds of the campus stirring and the birds singing soothed Harry into an almost meditative state. He jumped when Louis spoke again. 

“Come on, then. Don’t want to make you miss breakfast.” 

Harry looked over to find Louis looking back. “I don’t mind.” 

Louis rose to his feet gracefully. “Well, it’s the last thing I need, mate, to get blamed for starving the prince.” 

They went back in and Harry rushed to shower, hoping they might talk some more and go to breakfast together. He was wrapping a towel around his hair when he heard a door open and close. He sighed. 

* 

After school, Harry went straight back to their room rather than spend time with friends. Louis returned to the room just after ten p.m. and was showered and sleeping by half past. 

* 

Thursday morning, Louis didn’t have to time to go on the roof. He went straight from his post-workout shower to his desk, frantically completing some homework he’d forgotten to do. 

Harry went through his morning routine slowly. When Niall came by to see if he was ready to leave, he asked Louis if he was almost done. 

“Go ahead without me, mate,” he’d replied. “I’ll grab some toast on me way out.” 

* 

Harry spent the evening in Matt and Jared’s room watching a film. He didn’t bother to go back to his room until nearly eleven. Louis, of course, was asleep. 

* 

The room was empty when he woke up on Friday. Louis never came back from after his morning workout. At breakfast, his stomach dropped when Niall said, “Your roommate woke me up at fucking seven in the morning.” 

“What’d he do?” Harry asked. 

“Came over to talk about their trip. He doesn’t understand the concept of being quiet,” Niall said. 

“What trip?” Harry said. 

“They’re going to Reading to visit some blonde girl. They showed me her picture. She’s fit.” 

Harry frowned. Was it the blonde from the photograph? The one sitting on Louis’ lap? “Who is she?” 

“No idea. I was half asleep and would’ve rather they shut the fuck up, honestly. They’re leaving right after football training. Think they’ll be back Sunday morning,” Niall said. 

Harry nodded, picking at his scone. 

* 

He had no weekend plans of his own. He had thought it would be nice to stay and get to know his new roommate. They could go into town, go to the cinema or a restaurant, he’d figured. Plenty of his friends were staying on campus for the weekend, but Harry spent Friday night alone. Niall was at a pub in town that was lax on serving senior boys that weren’t yet eighteen. 

Around eight o’clock, he decided to kill some time with a workout. On his way to the sport hall, he ran into the Headmaster. 

“Good evening, Mr Winston,” he greeted him. 

“Ah, Harry. How was your week?” Mr Winston was a tall, handsome man whom Harry quite liked. He had his fair share of detractors; many claimed he cared more about social politics than ethics when it came to running the school, but he’d always been kind to Harry. 

“It was very good, sir,” Harry said. “I was just about to go workout in the sport hall. It looks great in there.” 

“Yes, we’re very pleased with it,” Mr Winston said. “So, how do you like Shaw House? Are Mr Corden and Ms Teasdale treating you well?” 

“Yes, James and —er, Mr Corden and Ms Teasdale are great. My room is very nice,” Harry said. 

“And your roommate, how is that working out?” Mr Winston said. “Is Mr Tomlinson behaving himself?” 

“Louis’s a great roommate,” Harry said. “I don’t see him that often, but when we get a chance to speak, he’s great.” 

“Has he not been friendly?” Mr Winston asked with a frown. 

“No, he has!” Harry said. “He’s just very busy with football and his friends.” 

“Mmm,” Mr Winston intoned. 

”Really, he’s wonderful,” Harry insisted. 

“Wonderful.” Mr Winston echoed. “Well, I won’t keep you from your workout. Have a good weekend, Harry.” 

“You too, Mr Winston,” he said. 

* 

He spent Saturday golfing. He and Niall sipped on bottles of orange juice spiked with vodka and only made it through twelve holes before giving up. They drove their cart around the course recklessly, blasting music on their phones and laughing wildly. At night, they invited a few friends to play Playstation in Niall's room. Zayn had granted him access to his huge collection of games. They took turns against each other for most of the night, drinking beer and eating Pizza Hut, before switching to playing strangers online. Harry shit-talking people who had no idea they were dealing with the crown prince never failed to send his friends into hysterics. It was almost four in the morning by the time they stumbled to their respective rooms, fuzzy-headed and content. 

He didn’t wake up until almost noon on Sunday. When he went back to his room after lunch, Louis was standing by the wardrobe shoving dirty clothes into a laundry basket. Harry smiled at him. “Hi.” 

Louis didn’t smile back. 

“How was your trip?” Harry asked. 

Louis shot Harry an an irritated look but didn't respond. 

Harry frowned. "Is everything okay?" 

Louis stood straight and put his hands on his hips. “So you told Mr Winston I’m being an arsehole to you?” 

Harry’s jaw dropped. “No!” 

Louis’ eyes narrowed. “Then why did I get called into his office and lectured about being friendlier to you? Obviously you told him something.” 

Harry winced. “He asked how we were getting along. I just said we hadn’t spoken in a while because you’re not around much.” 

Louis lips set in a hard line. “How about I don’t speak to you at all?” 

“No, please, I don’t want—” Harry started. 

“Well, I’ve got some shocking news for you,” Louis cut in. “It’s not always about what you want.” 

Harry bit his lip. “But why don’t you want to talk to me? What did I do?” 

“You didn’t _do_ anything. I wasn’t, like, avoiding you. I just have my own life; I’m busy. I’m not here to make friends, alright? I’m here to get a football contract. And the fucking governance think they can keep me in line by sticking me in here with you, which I’ll admit is pretty smart of them,” Louis said. “I just want to lay low and get through the year.” 

“So I’m a punishment to you?” Harry said. 

“No, geez,” Louis said. “Don’t take it personally, okay? My only priority at this fucking school is football. That’s all I care about: my team, passing my A-Levels, graduating, and getting a contract. That’s it.” 

“But you’re friends with your other roommates...” Harry said, a bit pathetically. 

“Yeah, because…” Louis sighed. “Look, you and me, we’re just pawns. They don’t actually want me to befriend you. If anything goes bad here, that’s me on me arse. They put me in here to get me under their thumb, and you know, fine. They win.” 

“That’s not why they did it!” Harry said in frustration. "They're not trying to control you or whatever you're thinking. They don't care if we're friends." 

“Oh really, and how would you know?” Louis said. 

“Because,” Harry said, and gnawed on his lip, hesitating. 

“Spit it out,” Louis demanded. 

“They roomed us together because I asked them to,” Harry confessed. 

“What?” Louis said. “Why would you do that?” 

“I thought you seemed interesting,” he said. 

“You thought I seemed interesting,” Louis repeated slowly. “Why, because I’m not rich? I’m a scholarship student, not a zoo animal.” 

“Of course not,” Harry said, hurt by the accusation. “I don’t think of people like that. There’s no difference between me and you except that—” 

“Except that you’re a bloody _prince_ and I’m not,” Louis bit out. “Don’t say there’s no difference between me and you. We’re not even the same species.” 

Harry shook his head, a lump in his throat preventing him from telling Louis how wrong he was. They had plenty in common. They both loved football, even if Harry was nowhere near as good as Louis. They were both stuck adhering to stupid rules due to expectations set upon them by others. Beneath their titles, whether it be prince or ace football player, they were just two teenage boys who loved having a laugh and hated homework. 

“So you had me roomed with you and then you go tell the Headmaster that I’m being a prick? Because I’m not being _interesting_ enough for you? Jesus,” Louis cursed. 

”That’s not – you’re twisting it,” Harry said. “I just wanted to get to know you.” 

“Did you ever think to ask if I minded being moved out of my best mate’s room for your bloody entertainment? Did it ever cross your mind that maybe _I_ don’t want to get to know _you_?” Louis said. 

“But…” Harry wilted, recognising how self-centred he’d been. “I’m sorry.” 

“Apology not accepted. So why don’t you do me a favour and kindly fuck off?” Louis snarled. 

For a moment, it thrilled Harry. No one had ever told him to fuck off before, sans his sister. In a strange way, it was exciting; something he’d only ever seen on television. A fight between two people with no one holding back for fear of offending a royal heir. He felt like he was on an episode of _Skins_. 

“Why are you smiling?” Louis interrupted his thoughts. “Is it funny to see me angry? Because I don’t matter, right? I’m just a peasant or whatever.” 

“You’re so full of shit,” Harry blurted unthinkingly. His eyes widened when he realised what he’d said. 

To his shock, Louis laughed. “So his royal majesty has some balls after all.” 

“Bigger than yours,” Harry retorted, and Louis’ smirk grew. 

“Well, I already know you have a big cock,” Louis said, and Harry choked. 

“Wh- _what?_ ” he stuttered. 

“I’ve seen it,” Louis said matter-of-factly. 

“Why were you… looking,” Harry said, flustered. 

Louis was watching him with stark interest, his eyes following the blush creeping up Harry’s neck. “Kind of hard to miss.” 

And what did— what did that even _mean?_

“Still think there’s no difference between us?” Louis asked, arching his eyebrows. 

“What?” Harry said dumbly. 

Louis laughed again, but there was a hard edge to it. “Just stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours, _your highness_.”

Harry stared blankly, at an utter loss of what to say to fix things. If Louis wasn’t going to accept an apology, then maybe there was no way to fix it. The thought made Harry’s heart wrench. 

Louis scoffed at Harry’s silence and brushed past him roughly on his way out of the room. He slammed the door behind him. 

Harry sat on his bed, helpless and dismayed. If Louis had always seemed just out of reach, it now felt like he was light years away. Harry had thought he had good intentions for what he’d done. He’d imagined them hitting it off immediately and becoming inseparable. He’d been so sure that Louis would like him if only he got to know him, but now Louis saw him as nothing more than a spoiled prince. Someone who viewed Louis as a novelty and held no regard for anyone’s feelings but his own. 

The worst part was that Harry didn’t blame Louis for seeing him that way. He’d done an inconsiderate thing, but wasn’t the selfish creature Louis thought him to be. The problem was that he had no idea how to prove that to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 5th Anniversary to 1D! To think, five years ago today, Louis was jumping into Harry's arm on the X-Factor stage ;) 
> 
> [This](http://mcpofife.tumblr.com/post/124788658463/if-this-is-a-dream-im-happy-youre-having-it-with) is the song that this fic is named after, in case you're curious. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos on the first chapter. I love hearing from you xxx


	3. Chapter 3

Harry lay on his bed with his arms crossed over his face, feeling sick to his stomach with equal parts self-pity and self-loathing. If only he were one of those people who were too cool to care what anyone thought of him. If only he could brush off Louis’ disdain; secure in the knowledge that he’d been misjudged. 

That’s just not who Harry was and he doubted he’d ever be that person. His heart bruised like a peach. It hurt him to be disliked by anyone and absolutely _gutted_ him that Louis had the wrong impression of him. If only he would listen to Harry, give him a chance to explain himself. 

He truly hadn’t realised how selfish it was to ask to be roomed with Louis. He hadn’t considered how the other boys involved would feel. He’d been so sure that it would work out for the best that he hadn’t stopped to question whether the ends justified the means. His inexplicable and embarrassing desire to get close to Louis had blinded him to everything else, and he was horrified when confronted with the reality of his behavior. 

A knock came at the door. Harry didn’t move, not even when it opened and Niall said, “Hey. Can we talk?” 

His voice was sombre in a way Harry had rarely heard it. He eased his arms away from his face and sat up slowly to find Niall sitting on Louis' bed. The disappointment on his face cut Harry to the core. 

“You could have told me.” 

The way he said it, quiet and sad, hurt a million times more than if he’d yelled. “I’m sorry.” 

“Why didn’t you?” There was no judgment in his tone, just curiosity. “I wouldn’t have told anyone.” 

“It’s not like… I wasn’t trying to _hide_ it,” Harry said. “It’s just… it’s a bit strange, I guess. I mean, it _is_ strange.” 

“What is?” Niall said. 

“He just, um, Mr Winston called,” Harry said, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. “He always calls during breaks so we can discuss my start-of-term interview. What talking points about Blake I should work into the conversation, what to avoid – that kind of thing. Then he mentioned our living arrangements. We hadn’t put in a formal roommate request—” 

“Because they know we always room together,” Niall said. 

“Right, but he asked to make sure, and I just, I don’t know. I said it without thinking,” Harry explained. “I didn’t plan it beforehand, I swear. I mean, not really. It had crossed my mind but I didn’t, like, I’d just thought about how Louis doesn’t really talk to anyone except his roommates and the football team, and I’m shit at football, so—” 

“But why couldn’t you just tell me?” Niall said. “You want to be friends with him; I get it. I would’ve understood.” 

“How could you?” Harry said. “I don’t even understand it myself.” 

Niall was quiet. Then he said, “He’s pretty angry.” 

Harry groaned. “He thinks I’m an arsehole. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. Or I do, but I don’t know why I’m so fucking weird and stupid when it comes to him. I should never have done it. I’m sorry. I regret it. I just didn’t think it through. But I promise I didn’t hide it from you on purpose, it’s just... I didn’t want to hurt your feelings and I didn’t want you to think I’m a weirdo.” 

“You are pretty weird about him,” Niall admitted. “Kind of obsessed.” 

“I don’t know why!” Harry buried his hands in his curls and tugged. “And now he hates me.” 

“And you’re stuck rooming with him until graduation,” Niall said. It wasn’t the most sympathetic remark, but Harry supposed he deserved it. 

“Maybe you could switch with him?” Harry said. “I know Liam’s roomed with Josh and it wouldn’t take away what I did, but if Louis could at least move in with Zayn, then—” 

“There’s no way the governance wouldn’t find out,” Niall said. “And it’ll look like Louis was so shitty to you that you moved out. Especially after you already told Mr Winston that he’s being unfriendly.” 

“I never told him that!” Harry cried. 

“Well, whatever you told him,” Niall said, sounding unimpressed. “You made your bed and now you’re stuck lying in it.” 

“Fuck,” Harry swore, knowing it was true. 

“Anyway, I don’t really want to move,” Niall said. “I like living with Zayn.” 

Harry tried not to look hurt by that. 

“No offence,” Niall added. “Zayn’s just cool. I think you were right, actually. It’s good to experience living with someone new. I can see us ending up proper mates, and I would’ve never gotten to know him if you hadn’t been a sneaky little weirdo, so at least some good came out of it.” 

Harry smiled bitterly, but was sincere when he said, “I’m glad for you. At least I didn’t fuck up your senior year, too. And I truly am sorry. You’re my best mate and I should’ve asked you first.” 

“Okay,” Niall said simply. 

“Okay?” Harry asked. 

“Okay,” Niall repeated. “I forgive you.” 

“Really?” Harry was so relieved he could hardly breathe. He didn’t know what he would do without Niall. 

“Yeah,” Niall said easily. “I know you wouldn’t hurt people on purpose; that’s just not who you are. You made a mistake— and you’re paying for it, which sucks. But, I mean, I’d sort of noticed for a while now that you’re weird about Louis.” 

Harry cringed at that. 

“It’s alright, mate,” Niall said. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to keep secrets from me.” 

“I just don’t know how to explain certain things,” Harry said. “Like... when it comes to him.” 

“It’s almost like you have a…” Niall trailed off. 

“A what?” Harry prompted, his heart in his throat. 

Niall looked at him steadily. Harry was light-headed with anxiety. At length, Niall said, “A fixation.” 

“I do,” Harry agreed. “I’ve just never known anyone like him. He’s so impressive and… I mean, his whole team is kind of obsessed with him, don’t you think? Like, he can get them to do practically anything. Liam would jump off a cliff if he told him to. He just has this… charisma, or something? There’s something about him that just makes him kind of fascinating to people?” 

Niall made a neutral noise and shrugged. 

“I think that’s what it is. Don’t you think?” Harry asked, a shade desperately. 

“Maybe,” Niall allowed. To Harry’s great relief, he changed the subject. “So, how are you going to make this up to me?” 

Harry thought for a moment. “I’m about to go to Windsy for tea. Could I buy your love with Beef Wellington?” 

Niall had accompanied Harry to Windsor Castle, affectionately called Windsy by Harry and his family, several times over the years. He was a boy who loved to eat, and the chefs at Windsor Castle were top notch. “Oh man, Beef Wellington?” 

“Baked Alaska for dessert,” Harry enticed. 

Niall let out a breath and nodded solemnly. “Well played, sir.” 

Harry laughed, biting his lips on a grin. The world considered him lucky for being born a prince, but that had nothing on how fortunate he was to have a best friend like Niall. 

* 

Harry’s guilt kept him walking on eggshells for over a week. He carefully avoided Louis’ gaze and tried to make as little noise as possible, as if that would make up for the fact that Louis had to room with him. He kept hoping to see some sign that Louis was softening towards him, but there didn’t seem to be any. Louis remained aloof, and when he did acknowledge Harry’s presence, only ever looked scornful. 

Louis didn’t seem affected by it at all. He went about his schedule, laughed with his friends, carried on as if the tension between them – the coldness that Harry found torturous – were nothing to him. How could Louis glare at him every time their gazes met; how could he scowl whenever Harry walked into their room; how could he treat Harry like he didn’t exist, and it not bother him a bit? It terrified him that Louis could be so callous. If it was so easy to ignore him, Louis might very well do it forever. 

He was lying on his bed with his laptop, ostensibly doing homework but actually just wallowing in depressing thoughts and sneaking glances at Louis, when Louis suddenly snapped, “Stop looking at me.” 

It was the first time he’d directly addressed him since their fight. Harry flinched at the sound of his voice and blushed at being caught. Louis was on his own bed with his Psychology textbook. His shoulders were drawn up defencively and he was scowling at the book in his hands. 

“I wasn’t,” Harry lied. 

Louis slammed the book shut and narrowed his eyes at Harry. “You were too. You always are. Have I made a good pet for you so far, your highness? Am I as interesting as you hoped I would be?” 

_Bloody awful pet_ , Harry almost teased, but clamped down on the playful smile that threatened to curl his lips. It would only infuriate Louis further if he made light of his ridiculous accusations. He tried the sincere approach instead. “I never wanted you to be a pet or a zoo animal or anything else you’ve said. I wanted you to be my friend. I still hope you can forgive me and give me a second chance.” 

Louis stared at him, and Harry felt hope spark in his chest. It was promptly snuffed out when Louis clutched at his own chest and cried, “Oh, my bleeding heart! The prince says he’s sorry, everybody! It’s official: Everything’s Better Now! Oh god, it’s better than a time machine, that apology! Wow, I’m totally over the fact that you fucked me over. Ah, sweet relief.” 

“Okay,” Harry said wearily. “I get it.” 

“Why don’t you shove that little apology up your royal arse, your majesty?” Louis suggested brightly. “It would fit right in with all that shit you’re full of.” 

“Ok _ay_ ,” Harry said irritably. “You can stop.” 

“No, _you_ can stop,” Louis said. “Stop looking at me, stop trying to apologise, stop breathing around me…” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, I have to breathe.” 

Louis shrugged. “If you’re not willing to compromise…” 

Harry sighed. 

“You’re the one who thought it’d be entertaining to have a dancing monkey in your room,” Louis reminded him. “Don’t get upset because it’s not as fun as you thought it would be.” 

“That’s a new one,” Harry said. “Pet, zoo animal, dancing monkey… I’d say you’re more like a dormouse.” 

“A dormouse?” Louis said suspiciously. “Why?” 

“Because they’re quite agile and they’ve got those little hands,” Harry said, holding up his own slightly oversized ones. “And you got into my Jaffa cakes yesterday and ate the whole box.” 

“There were barely any left,” Louis claimed. “Anyway, fuck you, comparing me to a rodent.” 

“The dormouse is a protected species,” Harry informed him primly. “They’re an essential part of our ecological system.” 

Louis puffed dubiously. “How so?” 

“I’m not really sure,” Harry admitted, and Louis snorted. “But they must be, if they’re protected. Alright then, how about a fox?” 

“Now, a fox I can deal with,” Louis allowed. 

“You’re quite like a fox,” Harry mused, with a small smile. “Quick and clever and fierce when you want to be.” 

“Fierce?” Louis raised an eyebrow. 

“When you want to be,” Harry said. “When you’re on the pitch, for example.” 

“Well, of course,” Louis smirked. 

Harry bit his lip. “And you’re fierce towards me.” 

Just like that, a frost came over Louis. “You deserve it.” 

It occurred to Harry that he had nothing to lose. Louis already hated him, so he might as well just say or do whatever he could to win him over; the situation couldn’t possibly get much worse. “You’re right; I deserve it. I was thoughtless and selfish. I was just so sure that you and I would get along if we had the chance to get to know each other.” 

“Well, you were wrong,” Louis said flatly. 

“No I wasn’t,” Harry said. Louis’ eyes flashed at him, but he continued, “We get along brilliantly. I think you’re great.” 

“You think I’m _interesting_ ,” Louis corrected. 

Harry looked at him plainly and said, “Yes, extremely interesting. And funny, and talented, and great to be around when you’re not actively hating me.” 

“Harry…” Louis said. “Don’t be dramatic. I don’t _hate_ you.” 

“You act like you do,” he said quietly. 

Louis turned back to his textbook. As the silence stretched, Harry openly stared at Louis. He caught Louis glancing at him a few times, but nothing more was said. 

* 

It was a little better after that. In the following days, Louis wasn’t exactly warm, but he wasn’t as cold. He didn’t speak to Harry, but he didn’t act like he wasn’t even in the room. It was a shift in atmosphere more than anything else. It felt less hostile, and Harry clung heedlessly to his hopes of reconciliation. His sister often called him hopeless – a hopeless optimist, a hopeless romantic, a hopeless dork – and he was all three, shamelessly. 

So he had no qualms about taking off his pants and wearing them like a hat to get Louis to laugh. He stood in the middle of the room, nude but for the pair of pink boxer-briefs on his head, and waited for Louis to return from his morning workout. 

The door creaked open, and he could only pray that it was Louis opening it, as he spread his arms wide and wiggled his fingers. 

“What the—?” he heard Louis choke before bursting into laughter. Harry grinned as the thrill of accomplishment rushed through him. 

“You are absolutely mental,” Louis told him as Harry pulled the pants off of his head and got back into bed. “I wonder what the British public would say if they knew their prince is a nudist.” 

Harry laughed. “Are you going to sell the story to the tabloids?” 

“Might do,” Louis quipped, “though it’s not a very _long_ one.” 

Harry felt like his face might split in half from smiling so hard. Penis jokes were his favourite. “That’s not what you said last time.” 

Louis’ smile faltered. “I was kidding about that, the whole thing. I was just trying to freak you out.” 

Harry’s face fell a bit, but he tried to keep the banter going. “It didn’t freak me out. Feel free to admire my cock as much as you like. I can arrange a private tour for you, if you want. But no flash photography, please. Arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times.” 

Louis stared at Harry with an expression of mild disgust. 

“…joking,” Harry said weakly. 

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Louis said sharply, “and don’t flatter yourself. Just keep your knob in your knickers and stay away from me.” 

Harry wanted to defend himself; why was it okay for Louis to say crude things but not okay for him? It wasn’t worth the possible fallout, though, so he kept quiet. They went about getting dressed for the day in silence. 

One step forward, two steps back. 

* 

Two days later, a scandal broke out that had the whole campus buzzing. A student named Daniel Foster had gotten piss-drunk at a local pub and sneaked a girl into his dorm room. As if that weren’t enough, the house master had caught them in bed together with drugs and alcohol all over the room. Daniel was expelled. Louis was livid about it, insisting that they should’ve issued a suspension instead. 

He loudly railed against the Governing Body for their decision, what with Daniel being the starting right midfielder on his team. “What good does it do to expel him? He’s sixteen, for fuck’s sake! People make mistakes!” 

Harry stayed quiet as Zayn, Liam, and Niall sat in their room listening to Louis’ rant. “It’s fucking bullshit, this! What about the team? Do they not think about how this affects the rest of us? We’ve got a game this weekend! Fucking governance needs to get their heads out of their arses!” 

Harry spoke up unthinkingly. “It’s not their fault he did it.” 

Louis’ head whipped toward him. “What the fuck did you say?” 

“No, I just meant, like, he shouldn’t have done it?” Harry said. “There’s a no tolerance policy for drugs. They can’t be lenient on him just because he’s a footballer.” 

“Oh, they can’t?” Louis asked sarcastically. “Because I’m sure they would expel _you_ if you had been in that position. I’m _sure_ they wouldn’t have swept it under the rug because you’re the fucking prince.” 

“I woudn’t have wanted them to,” Harry said. “I’m the same as any other student.” 

“Oh, bloody hell!” Louis groaned. “I can’t listen to this ‘I’m just another lad’ shit. Come on, guys.” 

Zayn and Liam followed him out of the room. When they were gone, Niall said, “Should’ve kept your mouth shut.” 

“Thanks,” Harry said. 

“You know he’s upset. Let him be upset,” Niall said. 

Harry didn’t reply, but he knew Niall was right. He didn’t know why he always said and did the wrong thing when it came to Louis. Something about him scrambled Harry’s brain and lodged his foot permanently in his mouth. It sounded backwards, but it was due to an unwarranted level of ease he felt around him, even when things were shitty between them. He found himself just saying the first thing that came to his mind, not avoiding confrontation or embarrassment like he’d been trained from birth to do. If they were on good terms, he didn’t think it would lead to so many conflicts. In fact, he thought it might lead to a deep friendship, if only Louis would let go of his resentment. 

* 

Louis came back at ten p.m. and got ready for bed without a word. If things had been icy before, they were downright glacial now. Harry had expected it, so it didn’t bother him too much. 

* 

It was dark. What time was it? Harry had gone to sleep shortly before midnight. “Louis?” he croaked into the night. 

Louis didn’t reply, but Harry could hear him moving. He rolled over and squinted at Louis’ shadowy form stripping off and climbing into bed. “Where were you?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. 

He didn’t get one. 

* 

They were served a full English for breakfast. Harry was loading his plate when James, the housemaster, walked into the room. He had a grim look on his face, and the table quieted down instantly. It was unsettling to see their usually cheerful housemaster with such a serious expression. 

He spoke briefly and authoritatively. “There has been a vandalism on campus. If anyone has any information as to who were the perpetrators, I advise you to come forward now. Everyone involved will be punished accordingly, and you’ll do yourself a favour by being honest. I am deeply offended by this criminal act and the disrespect done to Blake. If you were involved in this, salvage your honour as a man by turning yourself in.” He paused, shaking his head as if overwhelmed by disappointment. “That’s all I have to say on the matter. Good morning.” 

As soon as he left, the table erupted in speculation. What was the vandalism? Who did it and why? 

Harry eyes widened, dread filling him as he remembered Louis stumbling about their room in the middle of the night. He glanced over at Niall, who was tucking into his breakfast, seemingly without a care. 

“Niall,” Harry whispered. 

Niall shushed him. “Eat your eggs, Harry.” 

Niall looked at him, and he understood. _Not now_. 

* 

Someone had spray painted WANKERS on the side of the administration building, along with a penis and a pair of hairy testicles. It was hard not to laugh upon seeing it, and nearly every boy at Blake had taken a few pictures for posterity. 

Harry didn’t see Louis until English. He looked… innocent, even though Harry was fairly certain he wasn’t. He was laughing, carefree, with no sign of guilt or worry. Harry was starting to suspect that Louis was skilled at hiding his emotions when it suited him. 

Harry had a tonne of homework to do, so the whole thing sort of slipped his mind until Niall came into his room around eight o’clock looking distressed. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked. “You okay?” 

“…fuck,” Niall sighed. “Look, you know he did it.” 

He didn’t have to elaborate. “Yes.” 

“Well, they know Zayn was involved. They sent someone ‘round to the art store in town and asked if any Blake students had bought spray paint recently,” Niall said. 

“But that doesn’t prove anything. Everyone knows he does graffiti art,” Harry said. 

“That only makes him look more guilty,” Niall said. “Anyway, I just wanted to warn you. Louis and Liam were in my room and I overheard Louis’ plan. I was in the bathroom taking a dump, but I could hear him. Loud fucker.” 

“What do you mean, his plan?” Harry said. “Why do you need to warn me?” 

“He’s going to say you were there,” Niall said. 

“What?” Harry said. 

“Zayn and Liam don’t want to drag you into it, but Louis thinks the governance won’t punish them if it means they’d have to punish you too,” Niall said. “Liam said, you know, ‘Harry’s not going to confess to something he didn’t do’ and Louis said ‘then it’s his word against ours’. I think he’s still angry about… well, a lot of things. What you said about Daniel and the room thing too. I don’t know; he’s gone in the head, that one.” 

Harry took a moment to let that all sink in, absolutely flabbergasted. Eventually he said, “He’s probably shitting himself. If he gets in trouble, he could lose his scholarship.” 

“Then he shouldn’t have fucking done it!” Niall said. 

“I agree,” Harry said. “But you said yourself, he was really upset and— he’s always pulling pranks. He just went too far.” 

“Why are you defending someone who’s planning to stitch you up?” Niall exclaimed. “Really, I always thought he was a decent guy, but this is just wrong.” 

“He _is_ decent,” Harry said. “Just... thanks for telling me.” 

“Well, what are you going to do? You’re not going to go along with it, are you?” Niall said. “Your mum will find out. The _papers_ could find out. H, you can’t risk it.” 

It was true. Harry had spent seventeen years of his life carefully toeing the line to avoid situations like this one. Vandalism of school property would likely incur an expulsion. He could only imagine the headlines. _The Brat Prince! ‘Horrible Harry’ Expelled for Vandalism at One of Britain’s Poshest Schools!_

“What if they start calling me ‘Horrible Harry’?” he said. 

“What?” Niall said. 

There was a knock at the door. They went silent as it opened and James appeared. He nodded at Niall before addressing Harry. “Mr Winston would like to speak to you. Stop what you’re doing and go to his office immediately.” 

“Yes sir.” Harry gulped, looking at Niall in panic. The question in Niall’s eyes were clear: _What are you going to do?_

The answer was that Harry wasn’t sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a CRAZY week for me and I have to leave for the airport NOW but I crammed in editing this chapter before I leave. Hope you all have a lovely weekend. If you leave comments for me to come home to, then you are a sweet little turtledove. Thank you to the people who leave comments and kudos, you're the bestest x


	4. Chapter 4

The walk to the administration building had never felt so long and ominous. When he passed the vandalised wall, he stopped to study it. Louis was known for being mischievous, but it was hard to reconcile the hardworking and determined boy Harry knew with one that would risk it all for petty revenge. 

A hot temper and being too impulsive for his own good was something he could forgive, but framing him for a crime? He had admired Louis because he thought he was talented and brave, but there was nothing to admire about a coward who would stoop to such lows. He'd acted selfishly towards Louis, but he’d had good intentions. Louis’ only intentions were to save his own arse. 

The more he looked at the graffiti, the angrier he became. Fuck Louis, honestly. It was a shame that he’d be expelled, but Niall was right – if he didn’t want the punishment then he shouldn’t have committed the crime. He wasn’t going to lie for a guy who was trying to use him. Louis must really think Harry’s pathetic to even attempt such a thing. 

Full of anger and resolve, he marched to Mr Winston’s office and knocked heavily on the door, barely waiting for permission before entering. Mr Winston was sitting on the edge of his desk, arms crossed and face stern. Louis, Liam, and Zayn were standing. He joined their ranks. “Harry, do you know why you're here?” 

“Mr Corden said you wanted to speak to me,” he said. 

“Yes, I do. I want to speak to you about the vandalism that occurred on campus last night.” Mr Winston said. “The governance takes such offences very seriously. We expect our students to appreciate how privileged they are to attend a school like Blake. Vandalism is not only disrespectful to the faculty, but to the students and alumni. I’m sure you will agree that whoever did it deserves to be punished.” 

Harry peeked over at the boys. Liam and Zayn were watching him anxiously, but Louis didn’t spare him a glance. Harry’s jaw clenched; the least he could do is look at him! Coward! 

“Heed the words of Syrus,” Mr Winston said. “ _What is left when honour is lost?_ Speak truthfully or not at all.” 

“Yes sir,” Harry said. 

“Mr Tomlinson has told me his version of the events of last night, but I would like to hear your side,” Mr Winston said. 

Harry cut his eyes toward Louis sharply, but whipped them back towards Mr Winston when he added, “We have reason to believe that at least two boys were involved, despite Mr Tomlinson’s claim that he acted alone. I’ve spoken to Mr Payne’s roommate, who says he heard and saw nothing, and I’ll speak to Mr Malik’s next, but first I want to ask you. Was anyone besides Mr Tomlinson in your room last night?” 

“Not that I'm aware, sir,” Harry said. 

“Do you have any information as to who else might have been involved?” he asked. “Mr Malik, Mr Payne, or anyone else?” 

He wasn’t sure about Liam, but he knew Zayn had been in on it. He’d supplied the paint and most likely gone along as a lookout, at the very least, although the graffiti lettering looked too stylish to be the work of the same careless hand that had painted the penis. It was easy to see why the governance suspected a duo. 

He could just be honest: he knew nothing except that Louis had come into the room in the middle of the night. Louis had dug his own grave, first by his guilt and then by admitting to it. He was covering for Zayn, but it was definitely Louis’ idea, and it’s not like sharing the blame would make the governance go easy on them; they’d both be expelled. Harry opened his mouth to say what he knew, but he couldn’t get the words to come out. 

Louis was impulsive and foolhardy, but Harry had always known that about him and found it charming. He’d become well-acquainted with Louis’ temper; knew how it flared up and cooled down at dizzying speeds. The fact that he'd suggested using Harry to get out of trouble in the heat of the moment, but then taken all the blame for himself when push came to shove – it didn’t surprise Harry. Instead, it confirmed that his initial impressions of Louis were true. He was reckless and brave and admirable… and incredibly talented. It would be a shame if he were expelled; a great loss. 

Overcome by the renewed fervour of his regard for Louis, he blurted, “Just me, sir.” 

Mr Winston’s forehead crinkled in confusion. “You?” 

From the corner of his eye, he could see all three boys gaping at him in disbelief, but he kept his gaze on Mr Winston’s and said, “It was just me and Louis, sir.” 

There was a long stretch of silence. 

Eventually, Mr Winston said, “Perhaps I am misunderstanding you. Mr Malik, Mr Payne, you may return to your rooms for the night. I would like to continue my conversation with the prince in private. It's imperative that I understand what he means so that false information isn’t spread.” 

The boys readily agreed, nodding when Mr Winston added unsubtle comments about how discussing ongoing investigations with other students could lead to serious punishments. Once the door closed behind them, Mr Winston looked from Harry to Louis and back. 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Harry?” 

A part of him immediately regretted it – he could get expelled for this, after all – but a larger part of him thought it was worth the risk. He was Louis’ only chance at keeping his scholarship. “Yes sir. Louis and I were the ones who spray-painted the wall. We only meant it to be a prank, sir.” 

“A prank?” Mr Winston said. 

“A senior prank, sir,” Harry said. 

Senior pranks were a tradition at Blake, but they ran more along the lines of filling a corridor with balloons or letting a chicken loose in the dining hall. “You chose vandalism of school property as your senior prank?” 

“We wanted to do a memorable one.” It was a lousy excuse, so Harry added, “We got caught up in the idea of doing a truly outrageous prank; one that would go down in school history. We realised afterwards how stupid it was and we’re both extremely sorry and embarrassed by our behaviour. If we could take it back, we would.” 

“Both of you, hmm?” Mr Winston didn’t sound convinced. 

“Yes,” Harry said, glancing at Louis askance. “We’ve discussed it.” 

“Mr Tomlinson, is this true?” Mr Winston said. 

Louis started to speak, coughed, cleared his throat, and shook his head no. 

“With which part do you take exception?” Mr Winston asked. 

“He’s trying to cover for me,” Harry interjected. “He – um, he had said that he’d do that if we were caught. He doesn’t want it to leak to the papers; he already feels bad enough for what we’ve done. If we're expelled, the papers will find out, and it’ll be terrible publicity for Blake.” 

Louis finally looked at Harry, and Harry stared right back, silently daring him to disagree. When Louis said nothing, Harry continued rashly, “You see, it was my idea. I convinced him to steal some of Zayn’s paint. He, um, I think he was too intimidated to tell me no. Since I’m the prince and all.” 

Louis’ lips thinned at that, and Harry held back a smirk. 

“That was very short-sighted of you,” Mr Winston told Louis. “Are you aware that destruction of school property is grounds for expulsion and revocation of your scholarship?” 

Louis nodded stiffly. 

“I would feel so guilty if that happened,” Harry piped up. “I don’t think I could bear to stay at Blake. I know how terrible that would look for the school, especially if I transferred to another college. I can only imagine how upset the Governing Body would be, and that’s completely unfair to you, but really, I wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt if he were expelled. The students and alumni and Governing Body are all counting on him to help us win the FA cup.” 

Mr Winston looked at Harry now, and he kept his voice as guileless as possible as he said, “I hope we can find some other way to resolve this. We fully accept that we deserve to be punished.” 

Mr Winston grunted, pacing slowly in front of his desk. To say that he looked displeased would be the understatement of the year. Under his calculating scrutiny, Harry tried to appear ingenuous and contrite. A lifetime of media training had prepared him for this moment. He wasn’t much of a liar or an actor, but he knew how to sell a narrative. 

Louis wasn’t much help. His head was bowed; his face obscured by his fringe. His body was visibly tense. 

“Mr Tomlinson.” 

He lifted a pale, drawn face to Mr Winston. 

“Did you lie about acting alone?” 

“He—” Harry began, but Mr Winston cut him off. “I asked Mr Tomlinson.” 

Harry’s mouth snapped shut, and he looked at Louis. He hoped his expression conveyed how futile it would be to dispute his involvement. He wasn’t going to let Louis get expelled, not if he could help it. 

“Mr Tomlinson?” 

“Yes sir,” Louis said quietly. 

“Yes, you lied?” 

“Yes sir,” Louis repeated. 

“Harry talked you into it?” Mr Winston pressed. “It was his idea and you felt that you couldn’t say no?” 

Louis took a deep breath and exhaled in a rush. “It was mutual.” 

Harry almost smiled in relief but quickly contorted it into a penitent frown. Mr Winston paced for a minute more before saying, “There is no excuse for such blatant disrespect.” 

Harry’s hands curled into fists, and only then did he notice how badly they were sweating. 

“But the last thing I wish to do is further disrupt the school with scandal,” Mr Winston said. “You may return to your room.” 

Harry and Louis looked at each other in shock. Was that it? 

“You will be punished accordingly,” Mr Winston warned them. “I need some time to ruminate on how exactly that should be done. I only hope you've learned from this experience. What you might have viewed at the time as a harmless boyhood transgression could have resulted in grave repercussions for the both of you. Young men with so much to lose must take greater care of their reputations. You owe it not only to yourselves but to your supporters.” 

“Yes sir,” Harry said. Louis echoed him. 

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that discretion is of the utmost importance in this matter. If word leaks to the press, there will be nothing I can do to help you,” Mr Winston said. 

“Absolutely,” Harry said. “Thank you, sir.” 

“This hasn’t been the first time I’ve had you in my office for a less than positive reason, Mr Tomlinson. I trust it will be the last,” Mr Winston said. 

“Yes sir. Thank you, sir,” Louis said. 

“You’re dismissed. Go directly to your room and speak to no one. Return to my office after school tomorrow so that we can discuss your punishment.” 

“I have football training, sir,” Louis said. 

“Well, it looks like you’re going to miss it,” Mr Winston said, leaving no room for argument. “Good night, gentlemen.” 

They bid him goodnight and hurried out of the office. Louis did not look Harry’s way for the rest of the night. If Harry had expected gratitude, it didn’t seem that any was forthcoming. 

* 

The conversation the next day was a short one. They were not allowed off-campus for the rest of year, sans official school breaks, football games, or Sunday tea at Windsor Castle. They would spend their Saturday mornings completing assigned labour to ‘beautify the campus’. This Saturday would have them tending to the horse stables. They were each required to write a ten page essay on the history of Blake College. In addition, any future misbehaviour would result in immediate expulsion. 

It was a harsh punishment, but compared to expulsion or even suspension it was nothing. They thanked Mr Winston for his leniency. 

* 

On Saturday, knee-deep in horse shit and struggling to contain his growing irritation at Louis’ continued silence, it was all Harry could do to ignore him in return. 

Liam and Zayn had thanked Harry for what he’d done, but Louis had gone back to pretending he didn’t exist. “Really, he’s grateful. He’s just stubborn,” Liam had told him. “I think he's embarrassed, too. Like, that you got dragged into it.” 

They made no mention of Louis’ plan to frame Harry and he didn’t let on that he knew. That was between him and Louis; no one else. 

They took a break when one of the stable grooms offered them sandwiches and bottles of water. Harry’s shirt was soaked in sweat, so he stripped it off before washing up in a large metal sink. It irked him to hear Louis laughing with the groom. He collapsed on a bench, back and arms sore from hard work, and chugged half of a water bottle. 

“Y’alright, sir?” the groom, Lloyd, asked. He was a man in his early twenties, skin swarthy from long days spent outside. 

“Fine, thanks, no worries,” Harry assured him. “Please call me Harry.” 

“Is this your first time doing stablework?” Lloyd asked, handing him a sandwich. 

“First time shoveling shit?” Harry returned, which earned him a laugh. “No, actually. I’ve done it a few times at, um, one of my grandmother’s estates. She loves horses, so I spent a lot of time in the stables as a child.” 

“I’m sure she’s got some beauties,” Lloyd said. 

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Harry said, stretching out his slightly-twinging back. He could feel Louis’ eyes on him, and flexed a bit. “It’s a passion of hers.” 

“Tax dollars well spent,” Louis snarked, and Harry glared at him. It was one thing to be rude to him, but there was no need to drag his grandmother into it. 

Lloyd rolled his eyes for Harry’s benefit. “Well, I’ll let you enjoy your meal. You can leave once the manure’s cleared.” 

“Cheers, mate. Have a good one,” he said. Louis shared similarly friendly words. 

They ate in silence. Harry raked his hands through his curls, positioning himself to best display how much broader he was than Louis. He’d accused Harry of staring at him before, but Louis stared just as often. Just because Harry didn’t comment on it didn’t mean he was oblivious. He felt Louis’ eyes on his bare skin more often than not, and he’d once complimented Harry’s curls. He couldn't possibly hate Harry half as much as he wanted him to believe. Maybe he even admired his physique a little. 

The idea of Louis admiration pleased Harry, and he splayed his legs a bit wider and tightened his abdomen. He peered at Louis through his eyelashes and saw that he was indeed watching Harry. He allowed himself to smirk, grinning when Louis noticed and huffed. 

After days of silence, Louis finally addressed him. “I suppose you think we owe you now.” 

He made a face. He hadn’t been thinking of that at all. “No.” 

“You’re obviously expecting me to thank you,” Louis charged. 

“Well, you _should_ say thank you, but I don’t expect you to,” Harry said. 

“So that’s why you did it? To put me in your debt?” Louis said. 

Harry scoffed. “I know you don’t really think that.” 

Louis crossed his arms. “Then why’d you do it?” 

Harry shrugged. “If I hadn’t, you’d have lost your scholarship.” 

Louis lifted his chin defencively, but conceded, “Probably.” 

“Not probably,” Harry said. “You would have.” 

Louis didn’t respond at first. Harry took a bite of his sandwich. They stared at each other as Harry chewed. He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, making a disgusting display. Louis’ nostrils flared; it was obvious he was trying not to laugh. Instead, he scowled and said, “I don’t need you to do me any favours.” 

Harry shrugged again and swallowed. “Well, you kind of did. So you’re welcome.” 

Louis seemed at a loss in the face of Harry’s aplomb. “Just stay away from me.” 

Harry tilted his head playfully. A piece of cheese dropped from his sandwich and landed on his stomach. He picked it up, slowly brushing his skin clean with the side of his hand before popping the crumb in his mouth, smiling at Louis, who’d watched him do it. “You keep saying that. What do think is going to happen if I don’t?” 

“Nothing,” Louis snapped. “Except I might kick your arse.” 

Feeling a bit drunk on how intently Louis was looking at him, Harry let slip, “Or fuck it.” 

Louis’ jaw dropped and a bright red flush rose in his face. Harry watched in fascination. “What did you say to me?” 

Harry laughed in disbelief at his own gall. “What did you want me to say?” 

“Fuck you,” Louis retorted. “You’re deranged.” 

Caution had long since flown out of the window. Harry had surrendered to the cheeky side of his personality; consequences be damned. He’d risked expulsion for the guy and was now stuck spending every weekend of his senior year shoveling horse shit. Really, he had no fucks left to give. “Well, if you prefer it the other way around?” 

Louis sprung up off of the bench as if it were on fire. “Fuck off. I swear to god, I’ll fucking break your nose.” 

“I’m so scared,” Harry laughed. Louis threw his sandwich at Harry's head and he deflected it with a raised hand. He didn’t understand why Louis was freaking out so much over some jokes. It was a double standard that Harry was not going to uphold. “You told me you look at me.” 

“Yeah, to fuck with you. I didn’t mean it,” Louis said. 

_I don’t mean it either_ , is what Harry meant to say, but what came out was, “But you do look at me.” 

Louis knocked over a row of brushes as he stormed out of the stables. He never returned. Harry finished shoveling the manure and put everything in order before he returned to their room. It was empty. 

* 

He didn’t see Louis again until Monday morning. He’d probably hidden out in Liam’s room for the rest of the weekend. When he emerged from his post-workout shower, Harry was standing outside of the bathroom. 

Louis stopped short when he saw him and made an unimpressed face. 

“Look,” Harry said. “You don’t owe me thanks, alright? You never asked me to help you and I didn’t do it for that. I did it because you deserve your scholarship. You’re a great footballer. Even if you are a bloody idiot… and an ingrate.” 

Louis' expression twisted in surprise. Harry slipped past him and shut himself into the bathroom. He wasn’t waiting for an apology or a thank you from Louis. He wasn’t waiting for anything anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all the lovelies who leave comments here. I love hearing from you and you make it fun for me to post. Alright, I'm rushing out the door but I hope you are all having great Fridays! xx


	5. Chapter 5

It was a game. Of that, Harry was sure, although he wasn't sure of the rules or stakes or even who was winning. All he knew was that he and Louis were playing against each other. It started when Louis came back to the room after football training and helped himself to an entire packet of chocolate digestives from the stash of snacks Harry kept in his desk drawer. "Hey," Harry had protested lamely, and Louis had looked him right in the eye as he consumed biscuit after biscuit. Harry had been too thrown off to react properly. He should've gotten up and taken them back, maybe, or at least demanded an explanation. 

The next day, when Louis helped himself to his Jammy Dodgers, Harry quickly got up to retrieve them. He tried to grab them out of his hands, but Louis was too fast for him. He rolled over onto his front and stuffed the rest of the biscuits into his mouth, pelting the empty packet at Harry's head. 

"You... ow," he complained. Louis raised his eyebrows at him and rolled off the bed to go for the stash again. He pulled the drawer open and Harry ran up to shut it firmly. Louis looked extremely unimpressed and grabbed the drawer knob, yanking on it as hard as he could as Harry bore his weight on it to keep it shut. 

Louis grunted, his biceps bulging with the strain of his effort, and Harry couldn't help a bit of cheek. "You know, if you want to tug on a knob, I've got one for you that's a lot more fun." 

Louis instantly released the drawer handle in favor of slapping Harry upside his head. 

"Ow!" he shouted, clutching his head protectively, and Louis used the opportunity to pull open the drawer and snatch a Dairy Milk chocolate. 

"Give that back!" he demanded. 

Louis made a show of considering it. "Hmm… nope. I don't think I will, thanks just the same." 

“Little thief,” he accused, but Louis just snorted and climbed out onto the roof. Harry watched him in frustration and, in a sudden moment of inspiration, slammed the window shut and locked it. 

“Oi!” Louis shouted, hurrying back to pound on the glass with the flat of his palm. “Open up, ya tosser!” 

“Hmm,” Harry mocked, rubbing his chin contemplatively. ”Nope, I don’t think I will, thanks.” 

“Open up or I’ll fucking smash it!” Louis said. 

Harry laughed. “Okay? And cut off your hand? Be my guest.” 

“You’ll pay for this,” Louis warned him. 

“What are you going to do? Eat all my Tim Tams?” Harry scoffed. “You stole three things from me, so you can stay out there for three hours.” 

“You’re dead,” Louis said. 

“See you in three hours,” Harry retorted, and spun on his heel to leave the room. 

* 

He held out for fifteen minutes before guilt overwhelmed him and he returned to let in Louis. When he got there, he found the window open, the room empty, and his mattress stripped of its bedding, which was now on the floor in a heap. He had no doubt that this was far from over. Perhaps the thought should have filled him with dread. Instead, there was a sense of anticipation that appealed to his mischievous side. 

_Bring it on_ , he thought. 

* 

Harry’s stash of snacks was depleted and replenished twice by the end of the week. There was no way Louis was eating that much on his own; he must be sharing with his friends. Harry was probably singlehandedly feeding the whole football team. Unable to go off campus, he sent Niall to the shops with some cash and a list the first time. The second time, he charmed an underclassman into running the errand. The third time he opened his drawer to find a pile of empty wrappers, he waited until Louis returned from training and told him, “You know, you’ll get fat if you keep this up.” 

Louis didn’t spare him a glance, plopping onto his own bed and pulling a packet of crisps from under his pillow. 

“Oh, so you’re stealing and hoarding, too?” Harry observed. “What a clever little thief you are.” 

Louis snickered but didn’t reply. 

“We’ll see who’s laughing when your arse gets even bigger than it already is,” Harry said, and that earned him a glare. He smirked. “Louis Bumlinson.” 

“At least I _have_ an arse,” Louis said. 

“I have a small arse and a big knob,” Harry allowed. “But you have a giant arse, which means you probably have…” 

Louis rolled his eyes. 

“… a tiny, little, microscopic, too small to see with the naked eye…” 

Louis chucked the packet of crisps at his face. It hit him, but he caught it before it fell, and ate one with relish. “…ickle, tichy-witchy, incy-wincy willy.” 

“You are a true waste of oxygen,” Louis told him. 

Harry settled onto his own bed, packet of crisps in hand, and felt childishly accomplished. 

* 

The next morning, all of his shoes were scattered on the roof. He completely missed breakfast and was late to school, as it took him over an hour to retrieve them and to squeeze mustard into Louis’ tube of toothpaste. 

* 

The prank war they’d fallen into never went too far. Saran wrap on the toilet bowl; furniture wrapped in toilet roll; nothing that could really get them in trouble if they were caught. Being stuck on campus made it impossible to forget that they were one wrong move away from expulsion; if not for the pranks, Harry might’ve gone mad with boredom, and he suspected Louis felt the same. 

They were forced to spend hours together on Saturdays doing chores, and Louis had never struck him as a person fond of peace and quiet. It wasn’t long before he’d speak to Harry, not always kindly and the conversations stopped and started according to his whims, but it was better than stony silence, so Harry took what he could get. 

Mucking out the stables was the most laborious task, which was probably why it was the most frequently recurring one. Nothing sowed true regret like waking up at 8 a.m. to shovel manure. Sometimes they were asked to feed and brush the horses first, which Harry enjoyed immensely; it almost made enduring the smell of shit worth it. 

Louis was in a good mood that morning, which made him even less productive than usual, but Harry didn’t mind. He was bouncing off of the walls, cracking jokes and talking unnecessarily loud, and Harry was nearly crying from laughter. That is, until Louis found a big stick somewhere, dipped it in a pile of shit, and started threatening Harry with it. 

“Don’t arse around,” Harry said, parrying Louis’ playful thrusts. 

“Watch out! Uh-uh-uh!” Louis taunted, dancing circles around Harry and wielding the poo-stick way too carelessly. 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he warned, but that only seemed to spur on Louis. When he tried to grab his arm, Louis shrieked and smacked the stick against Harry’s stomach before dropping it and looking shocked by his own actions. Harry looked down at the huge smear of shit across his shirt as Louis cackled remorselessly. He stripped it off and threw it at Louis, who scampered back lightly, a challenging glint in his eye. 

Harry lunged at him, but Louis evaded him easily, quick and spry like he was on the pitch, making Harry feel like a lumbering oaf as he chased him around the stables. He didn’t even pretend to be afraid as he darted in and out of stalls, jumping walls and scurrying across benches, laughing his head off when Harry tripped over nothing. Louis ran right past him, leaning down to tweak one of his curls as Harry scrambled to feet. He saw Louis run up the stairs to the hayloft, and he didn’t think twice before following him. 

Louis was armed with a rake when Harry found him. “What are you going to do? Murder me with a rake?” 

“Good idea,” Louis said, but only swung it at him a few times before dropping it and attempting to sprint past him. He almost made it, but Harry managed to catch him ‘round the waist. Louis shouted and tried to smack his hands off, but Harry’s size advantage finally worked in his favor, and he flung Louis into the hay and tackled him. He smushed Louis’ face into the hay and held him down by the shoulders as Louis tried to buck him off. “I can’t breathe!” he claimed, but Harry didn’t believe him for a second; not with the way he was yelling threats and reaching back to thump his fists against Harry’s thighs. 

Harry’s hands looked huge on Louis’ narrow shoulders. He spread his fingers just to revel in it, slowly dragging them down Louis’ shoulders to hold him by the biceps; his hands wrapping easily around the muscle there and gently squeezing. Louis’ body was so small and so strong; a captivating combination, and Harry realised he was staring at the same moment he realised that Louis had gone still beneath him. They were both sweaty and a little short of breath. Too much body heat; too much rough-housing. _Horseplay_ , he thought, and smiled a little. Considered saying it out loud. The hair at the nape of Louis’ neck was damp with sweat. Harry wanted to lean in and— he wasn’t even sure what— just be closer. Always wanted to be closer, when it came to Louis. Always, always, always. 

“Can you—” Louis said roughly, pushing himself up on his arms. Harry immediately let go and rolled off of him into the hay, sitting up quickly as it pricked his bare skin, and watched Louis leave. 

He wasn’t surprised when he got downstairs and Louis was gone. He had to finish cleaning the stables by himself, which took twice as long and left him with a blister, and he spent the whole time daydreaming about telling off Louis. The opportunity didn’t arise until Sunday night when he came out of the shower and found Louis in bed with his laptop. Harry got into bed with his own laptop, initially planning to pointedly ignore Louis. Half an hour later, he was so irked that he couldn’t hold back. Where the hell did Louis get off ignoring Harry _back?_

“You know, I don’t expect you to feel bad about me having to spend my weekends stuck on campus doing manual labour, but you could at least do your share of it.” 

He expected Louis to react badly, but he didn’t expect what he said. “ _I’m_ stuck on campus; you’re not. You went to see your family today and had a posh meal fed to you by servants, the same as you do every Sunday while I’m sitting here staring at the fucking walls waiting for my mates to come back. You want my pity? Fuck you.” 

Harry was dumbstruck. When he didn’t respond, Louis rolled his eyes and turned back to his laptop. He genuinely hadn’t considered how Louis must feel about Harry’s weekly tea at Windsy. Seeing his family was usually nice, but at its crux it was an obligation. There were times he didn’t feel like going; when he was tired or in a bad mood or irritated with someone in his family, but skipping appointments wasn’t how he was raised. Still, he wasn’t sure the last time Louis had been able to spend time with his own family, and he was confined to campus without exception. 

Louis had a way of making Harry confront uncomfortable truths about himself. He could be self-absorbed; a trait he hoped to outgrow as he matured. If Louis stuck around, he was sure he would. He made Harry want to make a habit of seeing things from other people’s perspectives and acting accordingly. Not just to gain Louis’ esteem, but so that he’d be worthy of it. 

_You’ll see; I’ll be better for you_ , he wanted to tell him. _You make me want to be better_. It would just creep Louis out if he said that, though, so he said, “I had to throw out that shirt you got horse shit on. It smelled so horrible that I didn’t want to send it to the laundry.” 

Louis snorted. “You can afford it.” 

“Not if I keep spending a fortune every week restocking my snack drawer,” Harry said lightly. “The way you eat, you’ll bankrupt the monarchy.” 

Louis rolled his eyes again, but he was smirking, and Harry took that as a good sign. 

“I bought extra Galaxy bars,” he said. “I noticed you always eat those first.” 

“Well, aren’t you a darling,” Louis said wryly. “Where are they, then?” 

“In my drawer. Help yourself,” he teased. 

“I always do,” Louis teased back. 

Harry stuck his tongue out, and Louis returned the gesture. Not wanting to push his luck, he didn’t say another word for the rest of the night, and was rewarded with a light slap upside the head and small smile when Louis got up to put his laptop away. 

* 

A dead grasshopper was waiting on his pillow when he got back from school the next day. He saved it till Louis came back to the room, his usual cuppa in hand, and dropped it into his mug when he wasn’t looking. He almost drank it, letting loose a yelp when he spotted it that sent Harry into hysterics. 

“Loser.” Louis threw the rest of his tea at him, but it was only the dregs. Harry wiped it off of his arm easily, still laughing. 

“Where is it?” he said, plucking the little corpse off of the floor. “We ought to give him a funeral, the little Viking.” 

They were reading about Norse history in school, and Louis perked up at the idea. “Cremation at sea?” 

“It’s only proper,” Harry said. He set the grasshopper on his desk and started to tear a sheet of paper out of a notepad to fold into a ship. 

“Wait, wait!” Louis said, digging in his own desk. He handed Harry a sheet of blue cardstock. “Here.” 

“Elegant,” Harry admired, sitting at his desk and taking his time to fashion it into a sturdy ship. He grabbed a yellow marker pen. “What’s his name? Erik the Green?” 

Louis laughed. “Yeah.” 

Harry wrote the name on one side and **VICTORY OR VALHALLA** on the other. He held it up for inspection. “What do you think?” 

“Draw a sword or something,” Louis said. “Sword on one side, anchor on the other.” Harry did his best and held it up again. “Nice.” 

He put Erik the Green on the ship. “Should we do it at Leofmere?” he said, referring to the lake at the edge of campus. 

“Yeah, on Saturday. We’ll ride out after we do the stables,” Louis said. “We have to bring wine.” 

“Why’s that?” Harry said. 

“The thrall has to be drunk. Then I’ll tie you to the ship and you can accompany Erik to the afterlife,” Louis said, like it was obvious. 

Harry didn’t protest being assigned the role of thrall. He wiggled his eyebrows. “Don’t thralls also have to have sex before they’re sacrificed?” 

“We’ll try to find another grasshopper,” Louis countered, and Harry barked a laugh. 

Erik the Green’s ship sat on the corner of Harry’s desk, and it became a shrine as they attempted to one-up each other honouring the fallen Viking. There were wilted wildflowers, a few M&Ms, a photograph of a grasshopper (with boobs, genitals, and a horned Viking helmet drawn on it), poems and art of increasingly poor quality, and a tiny sword made out of toothpicks by the time Saturday rolled around. 

Just their luck, it was absolutely pissing down. Normally they’d rejoice at the rain relieving them of stable duty, but they had Erik to think about. 

The house dame, Louise, came by their room around ten o’clock. “Mr Winston rang to say you can take the day off due to the weather.” 

“Can we go off campus?” Louis tried, but didn’t look surprised when she said no. 

“Alright, I’m off. Will you two be okay for meals?” she said. “I could cook something before I go.” 

“It’s fine,” Harry said quickly. “I’ll cook. I like that sort of thing.” 

Louis laughed and Harry shot him an injured look. “I _do_.” 

“Okay, Louise, you can go,” Louis said. “I’ve got Julia Childs over here to tend to me.” 

Harry sighed theatrically as Louise laughed. “Alright, ta, boys. Text me if you need anything. Stay out of trouble.” 

When she was gone, Louis turned to Harry expectantly. “What kind of thrilling cuisine can I expect from you? Cheese toastie? Tinned pasta?” 

“You just wait,” Harry said. “You’ll be eating those words.” 

“I’m worried that’ll be all I’m eating,” Louis said. 

“Just wait,” Harry sing-said. “I’ve a few tricks up my sleeve that might surprise you.” 

Louis didn’t look convinced, but Harry was determined to impress him. 

He truly did enjoy cooking and had spent time in various palace kitchens learning from world-trained chefs. He was nowhere near their level, but he was confident that he could make something good from whatever he could find in the house. 

He went to the kitchen and found some chicken, red peppers, an onion, tomatoes, lettuce, and a pack of tortillas in the refrigerator. Perfect. He sliced and chopped and sautéed, feeling quite proud of himself as nice smells filled the air, especially when Louis wandered in to investigate. 

“What do you have for me? I’m starved,” Louis said. 

“Fajitas,” Harry said, grinning widely when Louis cheered. 

“Go sit at the table; it’s almost ready,” Harry said, turning back to the hob. He heard Louis root around in the cabinets. “Go sit!” 

“I’m going!” Louis said. 

When Harry walked into the dining room bearing two full plates, Louis was waiting. Erik the Green and his ship were there surrounded by lit candles, along with two wine glasses and a bottle of merlot. 

“We’ll feast in his honour,” he explained. 

The alcohol and Louis’ compliments on his cooking had Harry’s cheeks as red as the wine by the time they were finished eating. “Come on!” Louis said suddenly, standing and grabbing the bottle. “Let’s go on the roof!” 

“We can’t,” Harry laughed, chasing him up the stairs. “It’s storming. We’ll fall.” 

“Oh, live a little, you scared little princey-pie,” Louis goaded. 

“We can’t!” Harry caught hold of Louis’ arm as they neared their room. “Come on, let’s go play Zayn’s Playstation. Niall has beer in his mini-fridge.” 

“That’s stealing,” Louis said, letting Harry steer him. 

“I know that’s against your moral code, but maybe you can make an exception,” Harry said sarcastically. 

“I suppose just this once,” Louis said, brushing past Harry into the room. He swigged the wine and sat on Zayn’s bed. “Just this once, little princey-pie.” 

“I won’t tell a soul,” Harry vowed. 

They played FIFA and drank the day away, ordering delivery pizza and cookies when they got hungry again. They switched to watching telly while they ate, and when the food was gone, Harry said, “Should we put on a DVD?” 

“Sure,” Louis said. “Another beer?” 

“I’m still working on my last one,” Harry said, checking out Zayn’s movie collection. “What do you want to watch?” 

“Anything,” Louis said. “I’ve seen ’em all.” 

“ _Thor_?” Harry said. “In Erik’s honour?” 

“Is he still downstairs?” Louis said. “You know, it’s just not right. He deserves a funeral.” 

“We’ll do it next week,” Harry said. 

“It's not right,” Louis insisted, looking out the window at the pouring rain. “What kind of Viking brethren are we if we let a little drizzle like this stop us?” 

“We will die if we try to make it all the way to Leofmere,” Harry said. “We’ll need funeral ships of our own.” 

“So we’ll go to the sport hall,” Louis said. “We’ll do it in the pool.” 

“You want to start a fire in the sport hall,” Harry deadpanned. 

“Start a fire,” Louis echoed scornfully. “I want to _lay a warrior to rest_. Send him to Valhalla!” 

Louis stood, but Harry stayed sat on the floor. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Tiny little fire. In water!” 

Harry sighed and stood. “Leave your beer.” 

Louis chugged it and tossed the empty bottle in the bin. “Come on then!” 

His enthusiasm was contagious, and Harry giggled wildly as they raced through the rain, nearly slipping and breaking their necks on the wet pavement. They were soaked by the time they made it to the sport hall, hair and clothes plastered to their bodies. It was lucky they were barefoot or else their shoes would be ruined, and their feet slapped loudly against the tiled floor on the way to the pool. 

Harry went to the locker room to fetch towels and came back to find Louis in nothing but his boxers, his clothes in a pile. Harry had no qualms about stripping down too. They toweled themselves off before taking Erik and the ship out of the plastic bag they’d packed them in. “Should we perform a eulogy?” 

“He deserves no less,” Louis said. 

Harry considered his next words. “Okay, how about… Alas!” 

“Stop,” Louis said. 

“Alas! Uh…” Harry chuckled. “Ye… uh. Alas, ye… fallen brethren… Ye mighty Viking warrior! Ye brave traveler and conqueror of worlds! Let the sky winds carry you unto Valhalla!” 

“Is it ye or thou?” Louis wondered. 

“I don’t know,” Harry said. 

“Well, very nice. Yes, alas!” Louis said. They knelt by the side of the pool and Louis used a lighter to set the ship afire before placing it on the water. “Go,” he ordered, batting at the water. The ship rode the small wave the movement created, then came to a halt. 

“Here,” Harry said, lowered himself into the pool carefully and walking toward the ship. He swept his hands through the water, easing the ship along as it burned. When nothing but the smoldering wet base remained, Harry grinned at Louis. “Rest in peace, Erik the Green.” 

“No peace for a Viking! War!” Louis shouted, suddenly cannonball diving at Harry. He tried to move out of the way, but Louis crashed into him. He laughed as Harry sputtered curses, but stopped when he noticed that he was wincing and holding his shoulder. “Did I hurt you?” 

Harry nodded. It wasn’t anything serious, and he forgot the pain completely when Louis petted his shoulder consolingly and said, “Sorry, babe, y’alright?” 

Harry’s grin returned and Louis tried to dunk him. They swam around for a while, wrestling or having splash fights any time they got near each other. It ended when Harry let Louis pin him to the side of the pool. He was bullying him, getting in his face, and Harry’s stomach ached from laughing. “What kind of thrall are you?” Louis chaffed. “You were supposed to climb on that ship and martyr yourself.” 

“Couldn’t fit!” He squealed and slapped Louis' hand away when it tweaked one of his nipples. 

“No excuse,” Louis admonished him. “You’re a terrible thrall.” 

“I’m a good one,” he argued, cheeks dimpling so hard it hurt. 

“Maybe I’ll keep you for myself then.” Louis slapped Harry’s face lightly and grabbed it, squeezing his cheeks. “You’re my thrall now.” 

“’kay,” he agreed, his lip brushing the edge of Louis’ finger when he spoke. 

Louis stared at Harry’s squished mouth and Harry made fish lips at him. Louis huffed and looked him in the eye. Harry's mouth went slack as Louis’ grip on him ebbed. His small hand slid across Harry’s cheek up to his ear, tugged the lobe briefly, and then down the front of his neck and chest before falling away. Harry wanted to ask him to touch him again. He blindly reached for his hand, unable to tear his gaze from Louis’, and stared spellbound as Louis’ eyes crinkled impishly. 

It was the last thing he saw before a massive wave of water hit his face. 

They walked home wearing nothing but wet boxers, their clothes bundled in their arms, and changed into joggers before going back to Niall and Zayn’s room to watch _Thor_ and its sequel. Louis talked through both movies, recounting drunken adventures he’d had with his hometown mates. He was a fantastic storyteller, hilarious and engaging, and seemed equally content to listen to Harry’s stories. They drank too much beer, talked until the early morning hours, and passed out in their friends’ beds.

Harry’s final thoughts as he fell asleep were of Erik the Green, his fallen Viking brethren. If not for him, Harry wouldn’t have had this day, one of the best he’d ever had. Maybe it was a mixture of booze and nothing better to do for Louis; it didn’t matter. They had fun together, when Louis gave them a chance, and today had proven that. They got along so well, just like Harry knew they would. “Alas,” he mumbled into Niall’s pillow. “Unto Valhalla.”


	6. Chapter 6

The thunderstorms continued until mid-week. Louis made no secret of his frustration when football training was moved indoors, first due to the rain and then to the impossibly muddy fields. By Wednesday, Harry had memorised his rant about the team having “two more matches in the Third Round Qualifying of the FA Youth Cup before the end of term, and then a bloody _month_ apart for stupid winter hols, and a match three days after we come back! We need to train as hard as possible while we can! Can’t trust them lazy sods to keep at it proper when I’m not around to ride their arses!” 

“I’m sure you can harass them over the phone during hols,” Harry had said, half-sarcastically, but Louis replied with sincere fervor. 

“You better fucking believe it! ‘Course I will!” 

Harry would wrinkle his nose, trying to hide how endeared he was by Louis’ antics. In truth, he never got tired of hearing Louis rant about football, whether it was about his own ambitions or his opinions on various clubs. His passion for the sport was brilliant to witness. 

Thursday after school, Harry played tennis with a few of his mates. It was the last week of November and temperatures were starting to dip, so he wasn’t thrilled when he got to his room and found the window wide open. He swapped his tennis gear for jeans and a jumper (not his favourite one, which was missing from its usual place draped over the back of his desk chair), grabbed his phone and water bottle, and climbed out on the roof. 

“Graduated to stealing clothes?” Harry asked when he found Louis sitting cross-legged on the manky quilt he kept out there. He was smoking a pinner and looking quite cosy in Harry’s favourite jumper. It was too big for him; only the tips of his fingers peeking out of the sleeves. The dark maroon hue of it brought out the roses in Harry’s cheeks, but it deepened Louis’ complexion to an otherworldly bronze. Louis blinked at him and exhaled a plume of smoke. Harry sat next to him, carefully setting aside his water bottle and phone, and plucked the joint from Louis’ lips, batting his arm away when he tried to stop him from taking a hit. 

“Thief,” Louis accused. 

“Birds of a feather,” Harry said, taking another drag before handing it back. 

They only got a few hits each before Louis stubbed out the roach and wiped his sooty hand off on the quilt. “Have you ever washed this thing?” Harry said, pulling a loose string on the worn blanket. 

“Nah,” Louis said. “No point.” 

“Do you want me to?” Harry offered. 

Louis snorted. “As if you know how.” 

“Not exactly brain surgery, is it?” Harry said. 

“Where would you even do it? In the toilet?” Louis laughed. 

“I’ve washed things before,” Harry said. “Not in the toilet!” he added, when Louis laughed harder. “There’s a washer-dryer downstairs.” 

“Is there really?” Louis said. 

“Yes, there’s one in every house,” Harry said. “You don’t share a room with Niall for five years without learning these kinds of things. He’s fallen asleep eating Spag Bol more than once.” 

“And let me guess, you cooked it?” Louis teased. 

Harry straightened his back. “Actually, I make an excellent Bolognese. I’ll show you sometime.” 

“No thanks. I’m not keen on salmonella poisoning,” Louis said. 

“You liked my fajitas!” Harry objected. 

“I tolerated them,” Louis outright lied. He’d eaten every bite; Harry had watched him! He didn’t notice he was pouting until Louis strummed his jutted bottom lip. He reared his head back. “Don’t poison me with your filthy hand.” 

“Stroppy little thing,” Louis chuckled. “Alright, you can cook for me.” 

“Oh, what an honour,” Harry said sarcastically. 

“You’re welcome,” Louis said grandly, and Harry rolled his eyes and tried not to smile. 

“Don’t think you’re keeping that jumper, by the way,” Harry said. 

“I’ll be buried in this jumper,” Louis told him. “You can have it back when you dig me up and pry it off my cold, dead body.” 

“I’m serious! It’s my favourite,” Harry said. 

“And now it’s _my_ favourite,” Louis said. 

“Lou,” Harry whined. “Doesn’t even fit you.” 

“Only like a glove,” Louis claimed, pushing the sleeves up on his arms. “Maybe a little small on me, but I’ll make do.” 

Harry made a whiny noise and tugged at the jumper, whining louder when Louis’ slapped his wrist. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll let you keep it if you forgive me for the room thing.” 

“What room thing?” Louis said, but Harry knew he understood. He was so tired of having it hang over his head, always worried, when he and Louis were getting along, that the resentment would come back to ruin it. 

“Or will you hold it against me forever?” Harry said. 

“Alright,” Louis said at length. “I’ll keep the jumper and you have to… jump off the roof.” 

“I have to die for you to forgive me?” Harry said. 

“You won’t die,” Louis said. “You’ll just break your legs a little.” 

“Okay.” Harry got to his feet. 

“Okay,” Louis agreed. 

“I’m doing it,” he said, stepping off of the quilt. He took another few steps and glanced over his shoulder at Louis. “I’m serious. I’m doing it.” 

Louis nodded. 

He took another step, pausing when Louis said, “Harry.” 

He turned and walked back when he saw Louis waving him over. When he got to the edge of the quilt, Louis said, “Take off your jeans first.” 

“Why?” he said. 

“They look expensive. You’ll bleed all over them,” Louis said. Harry looked at him incredulously. “Come on then.” He snapped his fingers. “Don’t make me late for dinner.” 

Harry sat on the quilt to wriggle out of his jeans. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, goosebumps breaking out across his skin. 

“Cold?” Louis said. 

“A bit,” Harry said. “Are you really going to make me do this?” 

“I’m not making you do anything,” Louis said. “You’re the one who said you want me to forgive you.” 

“I _do_ ,” Harry said earnestly. “I wish I could go back in time and undo it, but I can’t. All I can do is say that I’m sorry and— I’m not going to try to defend it. I had no right to go behind your back. I was a selfish wanker.” 

Louis stretched out an arm. “Gimme your water.” 

“My—oh.” He gave him the bottle and watched as Louis twisted it open and took a long sip. He waited, thinking Louis would answer him when he was done drinking, but he didn’t. “So?” 

“So what?” Louis said. 

“I said I’m sorry and I’m a wanker,” Harry said. 

“Okay…?” Louis shrugged one shoulder. “So wank.” 

“What?” Harry said. 

Louis smirked. “You said you’re a wanker. So wank.” 

“What?” Harry repeated dumbly. 

“You keep saying things you don’t mean,” Louis said. “You said you’d jump off the roof, you said you’re sorry, you said you’re a wanker…” 

“I _am_ sorry,” Harry said. “And I never said I’d jump off the roof. _You_ said that and I agreed.” 

“But _you_ said you’re a wanker,” Louis pointed out. 

Harry was far too high to keep up with Louis’ mind games. It was difficult enough to gauge his moods when Harry was sober; right now it was impossible to tell if Louis was joking or not. He looked serious. Harry slowly slid his legs out straight in front of him, watching Louis’ reaction. Harry was frozen in indecision, but when the corners of Louis’ lips tucked in disapproval, it spurred him on. He slipped his hand down the front of his boxers and cupped himself. 

Louis’ jaw dropped and his eyes widened in utter shock, and the realisation that he had his fucking cock in his hand hit Harry like a tonne of bricks. What the _fuck_ was he _doing?_

Harry’s phone rang. 

They both jumped, startled, and Louis burst into laughter as Harry scrambled to retrieve it from the pocket of his discarded jeans. His face was hot with mortification as he pressed it against the cold screen of his phone. “Hello?” 

“ _Hey._ ” It was Niall. “ _I’m about to go to dinner. You coming?_ ” 

“Uh, yeah. I’ll meet you down there,” Harry said, shoving his feet into the legs of his jeans as Louis cackled in the background. As soon as Niall agreed, Harry hung up and finished tugging on his jeans. 

Louis lay on his back, laughing so hard that his face was as red as Harry’s felt. “You were really gonna do it!” 

“I was not!” Harry denied. 

“You so were,” Louis said. “You maniac.” 

“Whatever.” He got up and carefully started toward the window. 

“Hey,” Louis called after him. “I forgive you.” 

Harry looked at him cautiously. 

“Seriously,” Louis said, standing up and taking Harry’s water bottle with him. “How can I not forgive you after that? You were about to toss off just to prove you’re sorry.” 

“I _wasn’t_ ,” Harry grumbled, but returned the little smile Louis gave him. Jumping off the roof seemed much more appealing than it had before, but if humiliation was the price he had to pay for Louis’ forgiveness, it was worth it. 

“You going to dinner?” Louis asked as he followed Harry into their room. When he nodded, Louis said, “Me too.” 

Harry used cologne to mask the smell of weed. Louis was giggling for no reason and drinking from Harry’s water bottle, and kept purposely bumping into him as they made their way to the dining room. 

“Heyyy,” Harry said when Louis knocked him into a wall. 

“Heyyy,” Louis mimicked, and Harry couldn’t help giggling with him. 

Niall had saved him a seat, but the one beside it was taken. Harry wasn’t sure if Louis had intended to sit by him anyway, because he didn’t look at all bothered to join some of his football mates on the other side of the table. 

The heaping portions he piled onto his plate earned a knowing look from Niall. Harry grinned goofily at him and peeked over at Louis. 

Louis looked him in the eye and made a jacking motion with his hand, and Harry bit his lip on his grin. The humour of it was overtaking the embarrassment; yet another addition to the ever-growing list of ridiculous things he did thanks to Louis. This one definitely topped the list. Even risking expulsion for a crime he didn’t commit paled in comparison to stripping down to his pants and grabbing his willy on the roof. 

_Wanker_ , Louis mouthed, and Harry barked a laugh and clapped a hand over his mouth. 

“What are you two on about?” Niall whispered. “You’re high as a kite and he’s wearing your prized possession.” 

Harry shook his head, snickering around a mouthful of roast potatoes. Sure, he loved the Saint Laurent crewneck jumper, but it was probably silly to own something so dear. He only ever wore it in private, not wanting to deal with a lecture about how the British public would perceive him as frivolous. He might as well let Louis borrow it. 

“You’ve been getting along pretty well lately,” Niall noted. 

Harry nodded happily. “He told me he forgave me.” 

“He did?” Niall said, with a surprised smile. “Everything’s good now?” 

Harry took great pleasure in telling him, “Everything’s great.” 

* 

Friday afternoon, Harry was at his desk working on an essay when Louis bounced into the room crowing, “Oi, oi!” 

“What’re you doing here?” Harry said, amused by his exuberance. 

“Grabbing me old boots,” Louis said, digging through his wardrobe. “Don’t wanna ruin me good ones.” 

“The pitch dried up?” Harry said. 

“Still a bit muddy, but we can make do,” Louis said. “Indoor training can’t compare to a proper scrimmage on the pitch.” 

“Nice!” Harry said. 

“Yeah,” Louis agreed. “It’d be even nicer if everyone would stay the weekend to scrimmage tomorrow but they’re lazy arseholes as usual.” 

“Well, you won’t have to deal with that for long. Next year you’ll be in the premiere league amongst proper footballers.” It was shameless flattery, but there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that Louis would get a contract. 

“True!” Louis knelt down to put on a tatty pair of football boots. “What are you doing for dinner?” 

Harry hadn’t even thought about it. “Why, did Louise ask what we want?” 

Louis shrugged. “I just remember being promised Spaghetti Bolognese.” 

Harry perked up. “You want me to cook for you?” 

Louis didn’t look up from tying his laces. “You said you would, that’s all.” 

“I will!” Harry said. “What time do you want to eat?” 

“Regular time is good,” Louis said. “If you don’t have the ingredients, it’s no worries.” 

“If not, I can get them!” Harry said. “I’ll go check now.” 

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Louis said. 

“It’s no trouble!” Harry insisted. “I find cooking very relaxing. Besides, my culinary skills have been called into question; I must defend my honour as a master chef.” 

“Calm down, Gordon Ramsey,” Louis called over his shoulder as he left. “I’ll be the judge of that!” 

* 

He had to go to a couple of the other boarding houses to borrow things from their kitchens, but he managed to gather everything he needed. He had the sauce simmering and was just about to run the dough he’d made through the pasta machine when Louis entered the kitchen covered in mud. “Smells good!” 

“Get out of here!” Harry said. “You’re a mess.” 

Louis lingered by the door. “What are you doing?” 

“Making pasta,” Harry said. 

“Homemade?” Louis sounded impressed. 

“I told you I’m a _chef_ ,” Harry said imperiously. 

“Can I make some?” he said. 

“No, you’ll get mud all over the floor,” Harry said. “Go shower.” 

“That’s what mops are for,” Louis argued, but obeyed. 

* 

He reappeared just as Harry was grating curls of parmesan atop the plated pasta. “Need help?” 

“Set the table?” Harry asked. “Is anyone around? There’s enough or two more servings.” 

“Nah, everyone took off after training,” Louis said. “They’ve got better things to do.” 

“Oh thanks,” Harry said. 

“Don’t take it like that,” Louis said. “They don’t know what their missing.” 

Harry ducked his head to hide his smile. “Yeah right.” 

“Really,” Louis asserted. “I’m hoping it tastes even half as great as it looks. Not to mention I’m bloody starving.” 

“Then hurry up with the table,” Harry said. “It’s ready.” 

Louis cheered and got to work while Harry garnished the plates with fresh basil. Louis would probably make fun of him for it, but Harry couldn’t help wanting to show off. In the end, all Louis said was, “Posh.” 

“Shut up and eat,” Harry said, playing grumpy. He was more than satisfied with how the meal had come out, and it was clear that Louis was enjoying it. He was practically inhaling his food. 

“Alright, I have to admit,” Louis said, when he paused to sip his wine, “this is absolutely lovely. You even made your own pasta. That is truly, like, proper chef shit. It’s delicious.” 

“Thanks,” Harry murmured, keeping his eyes on his pasta; a bit bashful about how good it felt to be praised by him. 

“What can I look forward to tomorrow?” Louis said. 

Harry laughed. “You can look forward to buying me a Chinese. I might be a chef, but I’m not a servant.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Louis told him. “You’ve already agreed to be my thrall.” 

“I’m a modern day thrall,” Harry said. “We take Sundays off.” 

Louis sighed dramatically. “It’s so hard to find good help these days.” 

“Talk to my union rep,” Harry said. 

“Unionised thralls, yeah,” Louis chuckled. 

Emboldened by his success in the kitchen and making Louis laugh, Harry said, “So what should we do tonight?” 

“What do you mean?” Louis asked. 

“Um, like,” Harry said. “If you feel like hanging out, we could watch movies or play FIFA?” 

“Sure,” Louis said. “I’m going to bed pretty early, though.” 

“Oh really?” Harry said, trying not to feel disappointed. It was still a big improvement from Louis hiding out in Liam’s room to avoid Harry completely, like he used to do. “Why?” 

“I want to do conditioning in the morning before we have to report for chore duty,” Louis said. 

“You’re waking up at six on a Saturday?” Harry said. 

“Seven,” Louis said. 

“Wow,” Harry said. “You work hard.” 

Louis’ chin lifted proudly. “Got to.” 

“You know, in a way it’s almost a good thing, being stuck on campus,” Harry mused. “Less distractions for you.” 

“Bite your tongue,” Louis said. 

Harry stuck it out instead, and Louis returned the gesture. “I’m just saying, there’s not much to do around here alone. My marks have definitely improved with all the extra revising I’m doing… and I’ve never watched so much Netflix in my life.” 

“What a sad story,” Louis said, twirling his fork in his pasta. “Cheer up, little lad, now you’ve got me to entertain you.” 

“For the small price of Spag Bol,” Harry said, cheeks dimpling. “What a deal.” 

* 

They played FIFA on Zayn’s Playstation until Louis went to bed at half-eleven. Harry wasn’t tired at all, so he switched games and played strangers online. He got caught up in the action and stayed up much later than he’d intended. It was almost three in the morning when he sneaked back into their room to sleep. 

He woke up to Louis’ angry voice. His first assumption was that he was on the phone, but then Louis was shaking Harry’s shoulder and demanding, “Where are they?” 

“Stop,” Harry said groggily. 

“Tell me where you put ’em!” Louis said sharply. 

He had no idea what Louis meant. The last thing he’d hidden of Louis’ was his shin guards, but that was because Harry’s entire sock collection had mysteriously disappeared. They’d made a fair trade with no harm done. 

“I’m serious,” Louis said. “Give them back or I’ll throw this whole thing on you.” 

“Fuck off,” Harry groused. 

“You’ve got to the count of three,” Louis said. Harry ignored him. “One… Two… Harry, I’m fucking serious!” 

Harry sat up and shouted, “Fuck off!” just as Louis shouted “Three!” and flung a huge glass of green liquid at him. 

“What the fuck!” Some of it splashed across Harry’s arm and chest, but most of it went directly onto his bed. He jumped to his feet and stared in dismay at his soaked his sheets. “Dude, what the fuck.” 

“I didn’t know you were gonna sit up like that,” Louis said defencively. 

“Why were you throwing shit at me anyway?” Harry said. 

“I need my old football boots,” Louis said. “It’s like seven-thirty. I looked everywhere.” 

“I didn’t take them,” Harry said. 

“Come on, mate, I need them,” Louis said. “I don’t want to muck up my good ones. It’s still pretty muddy.” 

“I’m dead serious, mate. I didn’t touch them,” Harry swore. 

Louis looked conflicted. “There’s just you and me in the house. So they got up and walked off on their own?” 

“Maybe someone hid them before they left yesterday?” Harry said. 

“Who would do that?” Louis asked. 

“I don’t know,” Harry said, more concerned with the crap all over his bed. “What’s in that shit? It fucking stinks.” 

“Uh, coconut water, protein powder, kale, spinach, beetroot…” Louis said, watching Harry strip his sheets and groan when he saw that it had seeped into the mattress. “Oh man… Shit, my bad.” 

“Here,” he said, helping Harry bundle up his covers. “Go put these in the washer. I’ll clean up.” 

“How?” Harry said. 

“I’ll figure it out,” Louis said. “Don’t worry.” 

Harry had no expectation of returning to a clean bed, but when he got back after putting his sheets in the wash, he hadn’t expected to find Louis smearing shampoo on it. “What the hell are you doing?!” 

“I’m putting soap on it!” Louis said. 

“You’re making it worse!” Harry yelled. 

“How is that even possible?” Louis said. “Just calm down. Watch.” 

Harry hadn’t noticed the waste bin filled with water by Louis’ feet until he picked it up and upended it over the bed. “Why?!” he cried. 

“Might’ve used too much soap,” Louis admitted sheepishly. “Maybe we should put it in the shower.” 

“Yeah, I think the problem is that it isn’t _wet_ enough,” Harry retorted. 

“Well, we could wash out the soap and then leave it in there to dry,” Louis said. “Unless you can think of a better plan.” 

Harry sighed and shook his head. They pulled the mattress into the shower and turned the spray on it. When the shampoo finally stopped bubbling, they laid the bed flat and stomped on it to try to squeeze out as much water as possible. 

A knock came at the door. They were both only wearing the boxers they’d slept in and they knew it was most likely Louise, so Harry only opened it enough to poke his head out. 

“Good morning,” she said. “Did I wake you?” 

“No, it’s fine,” Harry said. “What’s up?” 

“The fields are still muddy, so you’re in the library today,” she said. “You need to be there by nine.” 

“Library, nine,” Harry said. “Got it. No problem.” 

“What would you like for breakfast?” she asked. 

“Uh, anything,” Harry said. “Whatever’s easy for you.” 

“Pancakes!” Louis called from the bathroom. 

“Pancakes,” Harry told her. 

“Okay,” she said. “Everything okay in there?” 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Harry said. “We’ll be down shortly.” 

“No rush,” she said. 

“Okay,” Harry said. “Thank you!” and shut the door. He went back to the bathroom to find Louis rinsing off his legs. He did the same and then they got dressed for a day of organising bookshelves. 

Louise escorted them to the library and pointed out the sections that were assigned to their care. “Here’s some dust cloths and spray bottles. Remove all of the books from the shelf, spray and dust it, and then wipe down each book before returning it to its proper place.” 

“That will take all day,” Louis said. 

“It’s only these two sections,” she said. “You have three hours until noon. Just do your best.” 

“We will,” Harry said. 

“Shall I make arrangements for your meals before I go?” she said. 

“I have it covered,” Louis said, nodding at Harry. “I owe this one a few.” 

“Actually, if you wouldn’t mind, I have some laundry in the washer. Would you mind moving it to the dryer before you leave?” Harry asked. 

“Sure,” she said. “Now, you two stay out of trouble. Don’t make me regret leaving you in here unsupervised. No spray painting willies on the walls.” 

“What are you insinuating?” Louis gasped. “Those vandals were never caught.” 

“Of course they weren’t,” she said wryly. “I’m off then. I’ll be at the house for another hour if you need me.” 

She left and they got to work. Louis put in a solid twenty minutes of pulling books off of a shelf before he got distracted by a wheeled ladder and started riding it around the room. 

“Dude, no, get back here,” Harry told him. 

Louis climbed to the top of the ladder and flapped his arms like he was about to fall. “Help me!” 

Harry went over and pretended to shake the ladder. It barely moved, but Louis clung to it and screeched in faux-fear. “I’m gonna jump! You have to catch me.” 

“No, don’t!” Harry said. “We’ll both die.” 

“Move,” Louis ordered. Harry took a few steps back. “Ready?” 

“Mate, if you hurt yourself—,” Harry started, and Louis hesitated. They both knew that an injury could end his football career. 

He climbed down a few rungs of the ladder. “Turn around and I’ll jump on your back.” 

Harry sighed but did it. He braced himself for the impact, wincing and stumbling forward when it came, but managed to catch him. He adjusted his hold on Louis’ thighs; Louis yelping in his ear as he was jostled into a more stable position. 

“Now what?” Harry said. 

“Take me to the shelf.” Louis pointed at the one they’d been dusting. He obeyed and Louis proceeded to stack books on top of Harry’s head. 

“What are you doing?” he said. 

“I’ll do the top shelves and you do the bottom,” Louis said, like it was obvious. 

“I can’t dust and hold you at the same time,” he said. 

“Not with that attitude,” Louis said. 

Harry made a haphazard attempt at picking up a dust cloth without dropping Louis. It failed immediately; Louis nearly choking him to death as he slid off of Harry’s back while books tumbled off of his head. 

“Let’s try with me sitting on your shoulders,” Louis said. 

“Let’s not and say we did,” Harry said. “Let’s decide what you’re cooking me for lunch instead.” 

“My specialty dish,” Louis said. “Leftover Spag Bol microwaved to perfection.” 

“You promised me a Chinese,” Harry reminded him. 

“You’ll have it for dinner,” Louis said. “I’m a man of my word.” 

Harry sat on the floor to dust a pile of books and Louis sat with him. After a few minutes, Louis said, “Why do you know how to cook?” 

“Why?” Harry echoed. “I don’t know, because I enjoy it? I’m not, like, incredible at it, but—” 

“No, I mean,” Louis said. “It’s not like you need to cook. You have private chefs everywhere you go.” 

“Right,” Harry said. “Well, you have the same chefs as I do here.” 

“You know what I mean,” Louis said. 

“Yeah,” Harry said, looking down at the book in his hands. 

“Hey,” Louis put his hand on Harry’s arm to make him meet his eyes. “I think it’s really cool that you know how to cook and do laundry and stuff. To be honest, I don’t know how to work a washer. My mum does my laundry at home.” 

“Ah, so the life of a pampered little mummy’s boy like you isn’t that different from mine,” Harry teased, laughing when Louis pinched his arm. “You get angry when I say it, but I really am— I was born into a very fortunate position, but I’m just an ordinary guy.” 

Louis nodded slightly. Then he ruffled Harry’s curls. “You’re anything but ordinary, love.” 

Harry swatted his hand away and bit his lip to keep from saying anything embarrassing. Louis being nice to him was pretty much the best feeling in the world. Even dusting books on a Saturday morning was fun with him by his side. It was weird and too much and nothing he could say out loud, nothing he could ask if Louis felt too, but he didn’t think he could ever give this friendship up now that he finally had it.


	7. Chapter 7

After three semi-productive hours in the library and a lunch of reheated pasta, they spent the afternoon in the sport hall. Harry took the role of instructor, coaching Louis through the routine his personal trainer had taught him. Despite being in top form to play football, Louis struggled through some of the exercises that Harry did with ease. 

“I’ll take some weights off the bar for you,” Harry said indulgently, when they were taking turns on the weight bench. Louis called him a smug bastard, but it wasn’t about that; it just felt good to be able to display his strength. It was a bit thrilling to have Louis see – maybe even admire – Harry using the muscles he’d worked so hard to build. 

It wasn’t like Louis was weak; he just wasn’t accustomed to certain exercises. Harry had to keep a careful eye on his form, repositioning Louis’ limbs, spotting him; all the things that his personal trainer did. His PT didn’t poke his bellybutton or tickle his underarms, but if he did, Harry wouldn’t try to kick him or smack in the balls, so it wasn’t an altogether professional session, but it was fun. They were sore and soaked with sweat by the end of it, and raced to the pool to cool down. They swam around lazily until hunger hit them. Then they went back to the house and ordered the Chinese delivery Harry had been promised. Louis made chocolate banana protein shakes to tide them over until it arrived. 

They had to move Harry’s mattress out of the bathroom so that they could shower. It was nowhere near dry. They dragged it into their room and propped it sideways in the bed frame. “It’s not going to dry in here,” Harry said. “It needs to be outside.” 

“Yeah, but where could we put it that it won’t get muddy?” Louis said. 

“Good question,” Harry said. “I wish we could put it on the roof, but it won’t fit through the window.” 

“Yeah,” Louis said. Then his eyes went wide. 

“What?” Harry said. 

“Fuck,” Louis muttered. Harry watched in confusion as Louis climbed through the window and returned with a pair of dirty football boots. 

“Are those your—?” Harry said. 

“Sorry, mate,” Louis said abashedly. “I totally forgot I rinsed them off and put them out there to dry.” 

“Are you serious?! ” Harry said. Louis made such a comically guilty face that he couldn’t help laughing. “You’re the worst.” 

“I’m sure Louise can sort you out a new mattress,” Louis said. “I’ll tell her it was my fault.” 

“It _was_ your fault,” Harry said. 

“Well, let’s not dwell in the past,” Louis said. “You want first shower?” 

“Considering you showered _my bed_ ,” Harry said, rolling his eyes when Louis made a puppy face at him. He wasn’t actually angry, but for once Louis was the one apologising, and he was going to milk that for all it was worth. 

* 

They ate their dinner in the games room while playing Monopoly. Harry had brought his bluetooth speaker along and they took turns synching their phones to it to choose the music. Their rambling conversation was interspersed with bickering over the game, which eventually devolved into chucking tiny houses and hotels at each other, wrestling, and Louis on top of him trying to cram a miniature thimble up his nostril. 

He shoved Louis off, sending him crashing onto the Monopoly board. He cursed and rolled off of it, fisting a handful of play money and throwing it at Harry for laughing. 

“You’re ruining it!” Harry said, calling, “Truce!” when Louis threw more. 

Louis kicked Harry’s shin but settled down. Harry attempted to smooth the crumpled money as they debated the best board games, which turned into discussing their favourite childhood Christmas presents, which turned into the tale of the bird’s nest eight-year-old Louis had found in his back garden and the speckled eggs inside of it that had never hatched. Each tidbit of information Louis shared was like another piece of a fascinating puzzle. Who Louis was and who he’d been and who he might be someday; Harry wanted to know. Louis was so expressive; his eyes and voice and his mouth – twisting in mirth or pursing in irritation – it was impossible to give him less than all of Harry’s attention. 

_I want to see every expression your face can make_ , Harry thought but didn’t say. _I want to know every bit of you._

During a story about his family, Louis took out his phone to show photos of his siblings; four girls who looked remarkably similar for purported half-sisters. Harry had never really paid mind to the outlandish rumours about Louis’ family, but a discrepancy in the story suddenly hit him, making him feel daft for never noticing it before. Louis’ mother was supposedly the single mother of five children from five different men; Louis had never met his father and had taken the surname of his stepfather. If his mother wasn’t married, how could Louis have taken his stepfather’s name? Maybe she’d married and divorced, but that didn’t explain the fact that the youngest two girls were clearly identical twins. 

“They’re pretty,” Harry said. “The oldest one has your eyes.” 

“You think?” Louis said. “Hers are so big.” 

“Same colour,” Harry said. “Crystal blue.” 

“ _Crystal_ blue?” Louis raised his eyebrows. “Mine are kind of bluey greeny blue. Hers are bluer. Or Niall, he has really blue eyes.” 

Harry shrugged a shoulder. “You have pretty eyes. And eyelashes. You have great eyelashes.” 

Louis fluttered them. “Actually, I’ve been told that before. Zayn claims his are longer.” 

“Yours are really long and thick,” Harry said. “Your whole face is good.” 

“My whole face is good?” Louis laughed. “Cheers, mate.” 

“You don’t agree?” Harry said. 

“I’m pretty vain; I won’t lie,” Louis said. “Luckily I have Zayn around to keep me in check; kind of hard to be too up on meself when I’m staring at his mug all day.” 

“You’re better looking than him,” Harry said. 

“Yeah right,” Louis scoffed. “Now I know you’re nuts.” 

“I’m not saying he’s not good looking. Obviously he is,” Harry said. “I’m just saying… I don’t know, you’re way better looking. Your face is—” 

“Don’t say it’s as good as his,” Louis said. “His nose is—” 

“He has perfect features,” Harry admitted. “But I’d rather look at you.” 

Louis ducked his head; when he looked up again, his cheeks were pink. “You don’t have to suck up to me.” 

“I’m not,” Harry said. “I’m being honest. You’re really fit. You’re probably the best looking guy I’ve ever met.” 

“That’s such a lie!” Louis said. “You’ve met Beckham.” 

“Well, that’s true,” Harry said. “Beckham in his prime could give you a run for your money.” 

“In his _prime_ ,” Louis said. “How dare you.” 

“He’s still handsome,” Harry said. “You could definitely have a Bum Off.” 

“Oh yeah? Is that your type?” Louis said. “Footballers with big bums?” 

“Football is very kind to bums and thighs, I’ve noticed,” Harry said. “Maybe my type is footballers with _crystal blue eyes_.” 

Louis threw back his head and laughed. “He doesn’t have blue eyes.” 

“Does he not?” Harry said. “Just as well; I was lying when I said he could give you a run for your money.” 

“Oh god,” Louis said. “If you think I’m fitter than Becks, I can only imagine what you think of yourself.” 

“What do you mean?” Harry said. 

Louis said, “Oh please,” and Harry wilted. “You think I’m full of myself?” 

“I think you should be,” Louis said. 

Harry wasn’t sure how to take that. People often assumed that he’d have airs due to his title. The things Louis had said in the library about Harry’s domestic skills; he’d hoped that meant that Louis understood that he wasn’t like that. 

“Hey,” Louis said. “Why are you pouting?” 

“I’m not,” Harry said. 

“Am I supposed to remind you that you’re an international heartthrob?” Louis said. 

“No.” Harry didn’t care what a bunch of strangers thought of him. Any prince would be considered a heartthrob by people dazzled by royalty. Harry had a good self-esteem and was pretty vain himself, but he wanted to know what _Louis_ thought of him. 

“Maybe I should say that I couldn’t believe that you’re even more handsome in person, when I met you?” Louis said playfully. “Or should I say you have _emerald_ green eyes and your six pack is better than Liam’s?” 

“Whatever,” Harry muttered. He stood up and started gathering the rubbish from their takeaway. 

“What are you doing?” Louis said. 

“Cleaning up,” Harry said. 

“Why?” Louis said. Harry didn’t answer. Louis stretched out across the floor and clamped his hands around Harry’s ankles. Harry looked down at him questioningly. “Sit down.” 

“No,” Harry said. He tried to shake Louis off, but Louis tightened his grip. Harry dragged his feet across the floor, pulling Louis along with him. “Let go.” 

“No,” Louis said. 

“I’ll kick you,” he threatened. 

“Do it,” Louis dared him. 

“Let go,” Harry said. 

“I was trying to tell you a lovely story about one of my sisters hitting the other in the face with a shoe and this is how you act?” Louis said. 

Harry hesitated. He did want to know more about Louis’ family. 

“Sit down,” Louis said, letting go of him when it was clear Harry would obey. Louis curled up to his side and showed him the photo on his phone again. “This one’s the one who got hit. My dad was—” 

“You all have the same dad?” Harry interrupted. 

“Oh, uh, no,” Louis said. “My stepdad, but he’s basically my dad. He married my mum when I was two. So, like, they’re my half-sisters but I don’t think of them— they’re my sisters.” 

“Right, of course,” Harry agreed. 

“Have you heard things?” Louis asked forthright. 

Harry nodded reluctantly; a bit ashamed even though he’d never spread the gossip. 

“It’s okay,” Louis said. “I know people chat shit. She was an unwed teen mum; she was eighteen when she had me. My dad took off when I was a baby. He’s a loser. I don’t really talk to him. My stepdad’s ace, though, and I don’t care what ignorant twats say about my mum. I’m proud of her. She’s a great mum and she’s hardworking as hell.” 

“That must be where you get it,” Harry said. “Your drive.” 

“Yeah, probably,” Louis looked pleased by the notion. “She’s always encouraged me. She’s convinced I’ll be a star.” 

“Of course you will,” Harry said whole-heartedly. 

“Well,” Louis said, fiddling with his phone. “I’ll do me best.” 

“Do you have any pictures of her?” Harry said. 

“Let me find a good one,” Louis said. 

“And tell me the rest of the shoe-in-the-face story,” Harry said. 

“Oh right, yeah,” Louis said, leaning against Harry’s side as he scrolled through his pictures. “Okay, so, it was Christmas Eve, which is my birthday, by the way…” 

_Christmas Eve, how fitting_ , Harry thought, as another puzzle piece fell into place. 

* 

They were in their bathroom by half-eleven, brushing their teeth. “You can have my bed,” Louis said. “I’ll kip in Liam’s.” 

Harry almost wanted to suggest they sleep in Niall and Zayn’s beds so that they wouldn’t have to be apart. He knew it was silly; what did it matter if they were in separate rooms if they weren’t even awake? So he thanked Louis and accepted the offer. 

He took his laptop with him to Louis’ bed to check his email and waste time on the internet. The pillow smelled faintly of Louis’ shampoo, and it was almost like having him there. Well, not really, but it was nice. 

He fell asleep about around half-twelve and woke up the next morning to Louis rustling around in his wardrobe. “Hey,” he croaked. 

“Sorry,” Louis said. “Don’t mind me.” 

“What time is it?” Harry asked, rubbing the grit of sleep out of his eyes. 

“Seven,” Louis said. 

Harry sat up. “Want some company?” 

Louis looked surprised. “Sure, if you want to?” 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Give me ten minutes?” 

“Cool,” Louis said. “I’ll go make protein shakes.” 

Harry made a face, knowing it would probably be the stinky green version. He also knew Louis would leave him behind if he dawdled , so he hurried to wash up and dress in a hoodie and joggers. He wasn’t a great player, but he quite enjoyed football and did own a pair of boots, so he put them on and ran downstairs to find Louis in the kitchen. 

The protein shake was palatable; he chugged it to make it go down easier. “You get used to it,” Louis told him, sipping his own. 

Harry held their water bottles and Louis his football as they walked to the pitch. It was a foggy morning, chilly but sunny. “Are you going to take me through your normal routine?” Harry said. 

“You think I’ll go easy on you?” Louis said. “Fat chance after yesterday. You were totally showing off.” 

“Was not!” Harry lied. 

“You might be able to bench press more than me, but let’s see how those skinny legs keep up with football drills,” Louis said. 

“Skinny?” Harry frowned. He couldn’t deny that his legs were long and slim, but he didn’t want Louis to think they were _skinny_. 

“Supermodel legs.” Louis strutted as if on a catwalk. “Perfect for the runway, useless on the pitch.” 

“We’ll see about that. Bring it on,” Harry said. He’d have to talk to his trainer about adding leg exercises to his routine. Although, _supermodel legs_ ; that didn’t sound too bad. 

Turned out supermodel legs became jelly legs halfway through Louis’ daily conditioning. Harry collapsed onto the dewy grass. “No more, I beg of you.” 

“We can do some core exercises,” Louis said. “Those should be easier for you.” 

They were easier, but Harry’s body was screaming in protest by the end of the hour. “Are we done?” 

“Yeah, just need to do the cool down,” Louis said. “Some light stretches and then we’ll jog back.” 

“I can’t jog back.” Harry said, sprawling on the grass again. “And I can’t stretch. Go find a wheelbarrow and wheel me back.” 

“Come on,” Louis nudged him with his foot. “You can do it. Push through.” 

Harry groaned but forced himself to get up. Louis led him through the cool down stretches, looking a bit guilty. “I went too hard on you.” 

“I asked you to,” Harry said. “I can take it. I like the burn.” 

“Really? Because you look you’re about to die,” Louis said. 

“I am, but that’s okay,” Harry said. “You really do this every morning?” 

“Pretty much,” Louis said. “I alternate working on different skills and usually I run more.” 

“And then you train with the team after school?” Harry said in disbelief. “How?” 

“Well, it’s important not to burn out. If it was offseason, I would have probably done better at your routine, because I do more strength training then. When I’m playing in matches, I stick to circuit training and endurance,” Louis said. “After school training, I’m focused on my team. I need my morning conditioning to take care of myself.” 

“I hope I didn’t distract you,” Harry said. 

“Nah,” Louis said. “It’s nice to have company.” 

“I’ll come with you every weekend,” Harry said. “If you want?” 

“You’re going to wake up at seven every weekend?” Louis said. 

“Sure,” Harry said. “I’ll skip the weekdays, though. Six in the morning is too much for me.” 

“You get used to it,” Louis said. 

“That’s what you said about green protein shakes,” Harry said grimly, and Louis snickered. “We’ll start with the weekends.” 

“Deal,” Louis said. “You ready to jog back?” 

“No,” Harry said. “Dude, my pants are wet.” 

“What?” Louis laughed. “Did you wee your knickers?” 

“I sweated my balls off,” Harry said. “Feels so gross.” 

“Take ‘em off,” Louis said. 

“Yeah, right here,” Harry said sarcastically. 

“Strip off,” Louis said. “I dare you.” 

“Completely?” Harry said. 

“Yeah, I dare you to run all the way to the house naked,” Louis said. 

“What do I get if I do it?” Harry said. 

“First shower,” Louis said. 

“Okay,” Harry said, tugging off his hoodie. 

“Are you really doing it?” Louis said. 

“What does it look like?” Harry said, yanking off his joggers and pants and rolling his clothes into a ball to carry. He immediately broke into a fast jog. 

He was cold and exhausted and overheated all at once; the last thing he wanted or expected was to see Louis’ nude form streak past him, shouting, “New rule! First one there gets first shower!” 

“Cheater!” Harry yelled at him, trying to force his wobbly legs to work harder. He was too distracted by Louis larking about – jumping into the air to click his heels, jogging backwards, nearly dropping his clothes and football while twirling – to worry about if anyone else was around. Some of the students from other houses stayed on campus on weekends, but chances were they weren’t outside this early in the morning. House staff would be return soon but probably hadn’t yet, and the boys who’d spent the weekend away wouldn’t be back until afternoon. 

At any rate, he was fairly sure they weren’t spotted. Despite his shenanigans, Louis beat him to the house, and was in the shower by the time Harry made it upstairs to their room. He dumped his clothes on the floor and kicked off his footwear. The bathroom door was ajar, and Harry barged in. “Get out! You can’t change the rules mid-dare!” 

“Excuse me, sir! I happen to have a habit of showering naked! Some privacy, please!” Louis called over the rushing water. 

“I’ll show you privacy!” Harry said, reaching past the shower curtain and blindly grabbing for him. 

Louis screamed shrilly and slapped his arm. “Get lost!” 

“Get _out_!” Harry caught hold of Louis’ elbow and hauled him out of the stall, swiftly taking his place. The hot water was a relief both to his chilled skin and his sore muscles. He had about five seconds of bliss before Louis barreled into him, shoving him out of the spray. “Hey!” 

“I have shampoo in my hair!” Louis said, rinsing it out. 

“I’m not leaving,” Harry said stubbornly. 

“Then bloody stay!” Louis said, bending down to get his conditioner. 

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from the water sluicing down Louis’ back, breaking into rivulets around the curves of his arse. Not that he tried. He was invited guest, after all. He huddled as close to Louis as he dared, trying to share the spray. Louis caught him off guard when he turned to rinse the conditioner out of his hair, their bodies brushing when Harry failed to move. Louis’ bare skin touching his sent Harry stumbling back into the wall. 

“Don’t die,” Louis laughed. “I’m almost done.” 

Harry dropped his hands down to cover himself, staring fixedly at the shower head until Louis slapped his stomach, said, “All yours,” and left. Harry blinked and hurried to get under the spray. It wasn’t as soothing as it had been before; his insides still churning from the brief contact he’d had with Louis. 

He went through the motions of showering and took his time drying off. He smoothed lotion over his body and a special one on his face, brushed his teeth, flossed, and rearranged his toiletries. When he ran out of distractions, he wrapped a towel around his waist and went into his room. 

Louis was sitting on Harry’s bed cross-legged, wearing joggers and eating a bowl of Coco Pops. “I made breakfast,” he said, pointing his spoon at the bowl sitting on his desk. 

“Thanks,” Harry said. It was cornflakes with bananas slices. He didn’t eat cereal as often as Louis, but when he did, this was his preference. He was touched that Louis had noticed. 

_Speaking of touched_. Harry sat gingerly on the other end of his bed. “It’s wet,” Louis warned him. 

“So am I,” Harry said, wincing as the moisture from the mattress soaked through his towel. “Aw, geez.” 

“Told you so,” Louis said, patting the space next to him. “It’s dry over here.” 

He didn’t react when Harry’s arm brushed his and his knee pressed against Harry’s thigh. He kept eating his Coco Pops like he hadn’t a care in the world. Meanwhile, Harry’s pulse was thudding in his ears and his cornflakes might as well have been cardboard. 

“You know,” Louis said, as Harry forced himself to swallow another bite. “You did really well today. There’s guys on my team who can’t get through that workout. You’re in good shape, but you also know how to push yourself. You really impressed me.” 

It took Harry a moment for that to sink in. “Wow, thank you. That’s a huge compliment coming from you. I can’t believe it.” 

“Why, 'cause I never say anything nice?” Louis said dryly. 

“No, because you’re a proper athlete,” Harry said. “I’ve always been really impressed by you, so to hear that I could impress you even a little, that’s really cool.” 

“You just say things, don’t you?” Louis said, wrinkling his forehead and smiling, like he didn’t know what to make of him. “You just put it all out there.” 

“Um, sometimes, I guess,” Harry said. “My mum says I wear my heart on my sleeve.” 

“A brave trait,” Louis said. “You impress me a lot, too, for the record. The more I know you, the more you impress me. And the more I like you.” 

“Really?” Harry said hopefully. 

“Yeah,” Louis said, crunching his cereal. “I’m not saying it was okay for you to change our room assignments without asking—” 

“You said you forgave me!” Harry cut in. 

“Let me finish,” Louis chided. “I’m not saying it’s okay, but… I probably wouldn’t have gotten to know you if you hadn’t done it. So maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.” 

Harry grinned, his spirits soaring. Louis poked his spoon into one of Harry’s dimples. “Eat your food.” 

It had gone soggy, but Harry ate it anyway. It was delicious. 

* 

All too soon, he had to leave for tea at Windsy. As his driver was pulling away from the house, he saw Liam arrive. So Louis would most likely not be in their room when Harry returned, which was fine; it was to be expected. They’d gotten along so well all weekend, but it’s not like there were any other options for companionship. 

Still, Louis had said he liked Harry. Well, he’d said he liked Harry more than before. That probably couldn’t compete with his proper friendships. If only the weekends were longer. Every bit of progress with Louis only made Harry greedier; he wanted Louis to like him – not just more than he had before, but more than he liked anybody else. He wanted Louis to choose him even when he had other options. 

* 

He’d expected to return to an empty room, so he tried not to let it bother him when he did. There was absolutely nothing wrong with Louis spending time with his mates. He went to visit some of his own mates, then sought out Louise to tell her needed a new mattress. She seemed exasperated by his vague explanation of why his current one was ruined beyond repair, but promised it would be replaced. 

Louis was back in their room at ten o’clock to get ready for bed. As they stripped down to their boxers, he asked, “What did Louise say about the mattress?” 

“I’ll have a new one by the end of school tomorrow,” Harry said. 

“That’s good,” Louis said. “Where are you going to sleep tonight?” 

“Oh,” Harry said. “Maybe the sofa in the games room?” 

“Take my bed,” Louis said. “I’ll kip on the floor.” 

“No, I can’t let you do that,” Harry said. 

“It’s fine,” Louis said. “I’ve done it loads of times.” 

“You’ve slept on the floor loads of times?” Harry said. 

“Sure,” Louis said. “You know, crashing at me mate’s house or summat. I just need a pillow and a blanket and I’m sorted.” 

Harry handed over his freshly-washed bedding and pillow. Louis fashioned a pallet out of them and made of show of how comfortable he was on it. Nevertheless, Harry was wracked with guilt as he got into Louis’ bed. He couldn’t possibly let Louis sleep on the floor. 

“Hey,” he said. “Let's trade. You take the bed.” 

“I’m fine,” Louis said. “It’s only for one night. Trust me, I once slept in a chair at an airport; I can sleep anywhere.” 

“I can’t sleep in your bed when you’re on the floor,” Harry said. “I just can’t.” 

“Well, it’s my fault your bed’s ruined, so there’s no way I’m going to let you sleep on the floor,” Louis countered. 

“Why don’t—” Harry faltered. 

“What?” Louis said. 

“I mean, we could share?” Harry said. “Is that weird?” 

Louis didn’t answer right away. Eventually, he said, “I don’t know if we’ll fit.” 

“You’re pretty small,” Harry said. 

Louis scoffed and got up from the pallet. “Budge over.” 

Harry scooted as close to the wall as he could, leaving plenty of room for Louis. “Do you want the lamp on?” Louis asked as he lay down. 

“No, it’s fine,” Harry said. 

Louis turned it off, plunging the room into darkness. They lay facing each other, eyes meeting in the dim moonlight. 

They were in a house full of boys, most of whom were probably awake, but Harry felt compelled to whisper. “Why did you sleep in a chair at the airport? Was your flight delayed?" 

“Nah, I was drunk,” Louis said. “I had nowhere else to go.” 

“Why not get a hotel room?” Harry said. 

“Waste of money,” Louis said. “It was just a few hours.” 

Harry wondered what it would be like to be able to do something like that and have no one blink an eye. It was funny to think that Louis could move through the world unnoticed, when for Harry it sometimes felt like an effort to notice anything _but_ Louis. 

Even now, with most of his features swallowed by shadows, Louis was stunning. Harry’s gaze drifted from the wave of Louis’ fringe to the bow of his lip to the smattering of hair on his bare chest. 

“You’ve got a staring problem, mate,” Louis said, and Harry’s eyes darted back to his face. His lips were quirked in amusement. “I told Zayn you think I’m hotter than him.” 

“I didn’t say hot,” Harry said, blushing as he recalled all the things he _had_ said, and how he’d nearly fallen over when Louis brushed against him in the shower. Their naked bodies had been so close, had touched, and they were so close now and naked but for their boxers. 

“He was very offended. He cried,” Louis said, using his finger to draw a line down Harry’s cheek, from the corner of his eye to the corner of his lip. “A single tear.” 

Harry’s mouth fell slightly open and Louis dragged his finger across his bottom lip. “You should apologise.” 

“Sorry,” he said dazedly. 

“Not to me,” Louis laughed, slapping Harry’s stomach. He jolted at the touch, pushing Louis’ arm away roughly and lightly cupping his crotch in what he hoped was a discreet manner. “What’s your problem?” 

“Nothing,” Harry said too fast. 

“What are you doing?” Louis said. “Are you touching yourself?” 

“ _No_ ,” Harry said, mortified. 

“Is the wanker wanking?” Louis laughed. 

“Go sleep on the floor,” Harry said, rolling over to face the wall. 

“Did you wank in my bed last night?” Louis said. 

“Of course not,” Harry snapped. 

Then Louis said the three words Harry dreaded most. “Are you hard?” 

Because he was, a bit. The embarrassment of being asked only riled him up more, added to it. Louis teasing him; Louis’ body heat; the image of his wet skin in the shower. 

“Harry?” Louis said quietly. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t answer. He wanted Louis to go away. He wanted Louis to come closer. 

And then he did. Louis scooted up behind him and gently rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder. It felt like a boulder pinning him down, that little hand. It slowly traveled down Harry’s back, sending bolts of electricity racing up his spine, and he _shivered_. It paused at the small of his back, and then slid to his waist. 

“Is this okay?” Louis whispered. 

“Will you—” Harry breathed, impulsively covering Louis’ hand and guiding it to the waistband of his boxers. He was so hard that the thin cotton was straining to contain him. He couldn’t think straight, which was probably for the best; he’d never have the nerve to do it if he wasn’t half-mad with lust. 

Fuck, that’s exactly what it was: _lust_ coursing through him wildly. He’d never felt anything like it before. It was more than being turned on; it was an all-encompassing desire for Louis. To touch him. 

He opened his mouth, ready to beg. What came out instead was a strangled groan as Louis’ hand slipped into Harry’s pants and held him. 

“Shh,” Louis attempted to calm him, but it only made Harry arch his back, seeking more contact, and cry out when he discovered Louis was hard too. 

“Shh,” Louis urged, pressing his erection into Harry’s arse; his hand working hard and fast. “Fuck, you’re big. Your cock is so big.” 

Harry moaned, and moaned louder when Louis bit his shoulder in punishment. “Shut up or I’ll stop,” Louis warned him, and Harry hissed. He smushed his face into his pillow, biting at it, panting for breath, undulating his hips as he desperately chased release. 

It didn’t take long, and he muffled his cry with his pillow as he came. Louis stroked him through it, didn’t let go until Harry batted his hand away, too sensitive for more. It was crazy; he was trembling. Familiar wet sounds filling the room as Louis got himself off behind him. 

He didn’t move until Louis rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom. As soon as the door closed, Harry slid his soiled boxers down his legs and used them to wipe off his abdomen. He threw them over the side of the bed, not caring where they landed. He should get up and clean himself properly, but he felt too drained, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to see Louis in the light. 

When Louis emerged from the bathroom, Harry rolled to face the wall again. After a minute of silence passed, he peeked over his shoulder to see Louis standing naked beside the pallet on the floor. “Hey,” Harry whispered, turning back around when Louis looked at him. 

He stared at the wall, taking measured breaths, and let out a sigh when the mattress dipped with Louis’ weight. He was jittery, unsure of how to feel or what would happen next. He would’ve thought that it would make it worse to have their naked bodies touch, but when Louis spooned him, the world faded away. It wasn’t sexual anymore, just comforting, just Louis holding him and everything being okay. 

“It’s late,” Louis said, his arm coming around Harry’s waist again. 

Harry took his hand, this time to hold it. “Good night.” 

He didn’t know what the morning would bring, but in that moment, he felt safe. Whatever he’d felt, Louis had felt it too. Whatever he’d done, they’d done it together.


End file.
